MEMORIAL  AND  BIOGRAPHICAL 
SKETCHES. 


BY 

JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE. 


BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  AND   COMPANY. 
Htoerfitfce  JDrefic;,  Camforttge. 

1878. 


T  I 


COPYRIGHT,  1878, 
Br  JAMES  FREEMAN   CLARKE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED  AND    PRINTED  BY 

H.  0.  HOCGHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW 1 

II.   JAMES  FREEMAN 67 

III.  CHARLES  SUMNER  : 91 

IV.  THEODORE  PARKER 113 

V.    SAMUEL  GRIDLEY  HOWE 137 

VI.   WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING  ....  155 
VII.   WALTER   CHANNING,  AND   SOME   OF   HIS    CON 
TEMPORARIES     167 

VIII.   EZRA  STILES  GANNETT 187 

IX.    SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY   .        •        .        .         .         .197 

X.    SUSAN  DIMOCK 211 

XI.   GEORGE  KEATS 219 

XII.   ROBERT  J.  BRECKINRIDGE        ....  231 

XIII.  GEORGE  DENISON  PRENTICE         ....  243 

XIV.  JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH,  THE  ELDER  :    AN  INCI 

DENT  IN  HIS  LIFE 261 

XV.   WASHINGTON,  AND  THE  SECRET  OF  HIS  INFLU 
ENCE         281 

XVI.    SHAKSPEARE 301 

XVII.   JEAN  JACQUES  KOUSSEAU         .         .         .        .  .'43 

XVIII.   THE  HEROES  OF  ONE  COUNTRY  TOWN        .        .  383 

XIX.   WILLIAM  HULL  403 


802085 


JOHN  ALBION   ANDKEW. 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDKEW. 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW,  the  great  War-gov 
ernor  of  Massachusetts,  the  pilot  who  weathered 
the  storm,  the  twenty-first  governor  of  the  State 
after  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution  of  1780,  was 
born  in  Windham,  Maine,  May  31,  1818. 

When  I  was  about  twenty  years  old,  I  took  rn}^ 
first  journey.  I  went  to  Portland,  and  thence  by 
stage  along  the  eastern  shore  of  Lake  Sebago, 
and  the  lakes  adjacent  to  it.  At  a  certain  point, 
in  the  town  of  Otisfield  (now  called  Naples),  I 
was  struck  by  the  picturesque  situation  of  a  farm 
house  on  a  hill,  which  looked  down  on  two  lovely 
sheets  of  water,  and  on  a  valley  through  which  ran 
a  stream  out  of  one  lake  into  the  other.  Dark 
and  lofty  pines  and  distant  mountains  made  a 
background  for  this  lovely  landscape.  The  sweet 
valley  was  like  that  described  by  Spenser  :  — 

"  A  pleasant  dale  that  lowly  lay 
Between  two  hills,  whose  high  heads  overplaced, 
The  valley  did  with  cool  shade  overcast. 
Through  midst  thereof  a  little  river  rolled, 
By  which  there  sat  a  knight  with  helm  unlaced. 


4  J0#JV  ALBION  ANDREW. 

Himself  refreshing  with  the  liquid  cold, 
After  his  travel  long  and  labors  manifold." 

Taken  with  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  I  asked  the 
driver  of  the  stage,  by  whose  side  I  was  sitting,  if 
he  thought  the  people  who  lived  in  that  farm-house 
would  be  willing  to  take  me  to  board  for  a  few 
days.  "  I  guess  they  will,"  said  he ;  "  they  don't 
see  folks  very  often,  and  they  '11  like  well  enough 
to  hear  the  news  from  outside.  They  're  nice 
folks,  the  Chutes  are ;  if  they  take  you,  they  '11 
do  well  by  you."  So  I  dismounted  with  my  bag, 
and  found  the  driver's  prediction  correct.  They 
gave  me  a  room,  from  one  window  of  which  I 
looked  up  to  the  head  of  a  lake,  twelve  miles 
long,  bordered  by  the  primeval  forests  of  pine 
trees,  some  of  them  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high, 
without  a  limb  except  at  the  top.  From  the  other 
window  of  my  chamber  I  beheld  another  clear  ex 
panse  of  water,  and  "  the  little  river  "  running 
into  it.  I  saw  no  knight  sitting  there  then,  but 
only  Andrew  Chute,  the  son  of  my  host,  catching 
trout  for  my  breakfast.  But  had  I  possessed  the 

J 

spirit  of  prophecy,  I  might  have  beheld  a  very 
chivalrie  knight  there.  For  about  thirty  years 
after  that  time,  I  was  describing  the  scene  to 
my  dear  friend,  John  A.  Andrew,  and  he  cried  out, 
"  Why  !  that  must  have  been  Uncle  Chute's  house 
in  Otisfield."  And  then  he  told  me  that,  at  the 
very  time  I  was  there,  he  was  a  boy,  some  twelve 
years  old,  living  at  his  father's  house  in  Windham, 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  5 

near  by,  and  that  both  then,  and  later,  he  had 
often  gone  to  that  very  house,  and  sat  by  that 
very  stream,  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  scenery, 
resting  himself  from  "  his  labors  manifold."  And 
surely  never  was  there  a  knight  in  all  Spenser's 
roll  of  chivalry  who  bore  a  whiter  shield,  or  struck 
a  more  gallant  blow  on  behalf  of  the  oppressed 
and  the  defenseless,  than  he. 

Amid  this  romantic  scenery  of  forests,  lakes, 
and  mountains,  the  boy  grew  up,  his  soul  fed  with 
the  kindly  influences  of  nature.  The  forests, 
where  the  white  pine,  pitch  pine,  and  Norway  pine 
grew  together,  and  where  the  lumberers  were 
only  then  beginning  to.  build  their  winter  camps, 
stretched  in  silence  and  solitude  around.  The 
people  lived  on  large  farms,  containing  two  or 
three  hundred  acres,  divided  into  pastures  for 
sheep  and  arable  land  for  corn,  potatoes,  and 
wheat.  At  Mr.  Chute's  they  seldom  had  meat. 
Their  chief  food  was  bread,  butter,  milk,  and  po 
tatoes,  but  the  cooking  was  excellent,  and  the 
people  were  intelligent  and  good.  The  women  of 
the  family  did  the  work  of  the  house,  and  usually 
got  through  by  noon,  and  then  sat  together  sewing 
and  reading.  In  the  winter,  the  men  went  into 
the  woods,  and  passed  several  months  in  the  lum 
berer's  camp,  felling,  hewing,  and  hauling  timber. 
Around  the  camps  the  snow  would  often  lie  ten 
feet  deep,  and  the  son  of  my  host,  Andrew  Chute, 
took  me  to  see  the  log-house  where  the  lumber- 


6  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

men  slept.  One  whole  side  of  this  house  was  a 
fire-place,  made  of  stone  slabs,  on  which  an  im 
mense  fire  of  logs  burned  day  and  night.  Though 
the  thermometer  often  fell  to  20°  or  30°  below 
zero  (F.),  yet,  as  no  wind  could  reach  them  in 
these  forest  recesses,  the  men  were  comfortable, 
warmed  by  their  exercise  during  the  day,  and  at 
night  sleeping  with  their  feet  to  the  fire  and  their 
heads  to  the  air.  I,  a  youth  who  had  never  seen 
trees  more  than  thirty  or  forty  feet  high,  and  only 
hills  and  ponds,  never  lakes  nor  mountains,  was 
filled  with  delight  at  the  sight  of  these  novel  won 
ders.  And,  afterward,  I  fancied  I  could  trace  in 
John  Andrew  the  influence  wrought  on  his  soul 
by  such  scenes.  They  helped  him  to  dignity,  self- 
possession,  elevation ;  in  short,  character. 

These  country  people,  though  having  small  means, 
usually  contrived  to  save  enough  to  send  one  son, 
at  least,  to  college.  Andrew  Chute  was  a  student 
at  Waterville,  and  John  Andrew  was  sent  to 
Bowdoin.  I  have  heard  little  of  his  college  life, 
except  that  he  was  a  favorite  there,  as  elsewhere, 
because  of  his  joyous,  kindly,  and  helpful  dis 
position.  How  much  he  studied,  I  have  never 
learned.  But  we  have  one  striking  proof  that 
when  only  eighteen  years  old  his  heart  already 
was  warm  with  a  generous  philanthropy  and  a 
sense  of  religious  obligation.  This  appears  from  a 
sentence  written  in  the  album  of  a  classmate, 
Richard  Pike,  afterward  a  clergyman  in  Dorches 
ter,  Mass. 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  1 

PIKE  !  —  May  you  ever  be  the  poor  man's  friend,  the 
champion  of  the  slave,  a  preacher  of  righteousness,  and 
a  son  of  God.  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

May  31,  1836. 

After  graduating  at  Bowdoin  College,  Andrew 
came  to  Boston,  and  studied  in  the  office  of  Mr. 
Henry  H.  Fuller,  an  uncle  of  Margaret  Fuller. 
After  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  he  continued  to 
practice  for  a  time  with  Mr.  Fuller,  but  afterward 
was  law-partner,  for  many  years,  with  Mr.  The- 
ophilus  P.  Chandler,  at  the  corner  of  Court  Street 
and  Washington  Street,  Boston. 

In  March,  1841,  the  Church  of  the  Disciples  was 
founded  in  Boston,  having,  among  other  methods, 
one  of  keeping  all  the  seats  free  to  all  comers  ; 
another  of  frequent  social  meetings,  and  a  form  of 
worship  in  which  the  whole  congregation  could 
take  part.  The  only  condition  of  membership 
was  faith  in  Jesus,  and  a  desire  to  become  his  dis 
ciple.  During  the  first  year  of  the  church,  on 
September  30, 1841,  John  Albion  Andrew  entered 
his  name  on  our  church  book ;  and  continued  until 
his  death,  more  than  twenty-five  years  after,  an 
active  and  useful  member  of  our  body.  During  a 
long  period,  we  held  weekly  meetings  for  conver 
sation  on  important  topics  of  religion  and  duty  — 
and  his  presence  always  added  interest  and  value 
to  these  discussions.  A  man  of  strong  religious 
convictions  and  warm  religious  emotions,  he  was 
without  the  least  tinge  of  cant,  and  so  free  in  his 


8  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

utterance,  that  lie  spoke  with  the  same  familiar 
confidence  of  spiritual  things  as  of  earthly  ones. 
He  was  very  fond  of  the  Scriptures,  and  would 
often  discuss,  at  length,  the  meaning  of  Paul ; 
sometimes  bringing  out  a  sense  which  few  com 
mentators,  I  imagine,  had  ever  suspected.  The 
first  time  I  saw  him,  he  was  presiding  over  an 
adult  Bible-class,  which  met  on  Sunday  afternoons. 
Different  members  of  our  church  would  take 
charge  of  it  in  succession.  I,  myself,  though  pas 
tor,  had  no  responsibility  about  it,  but  often  at 
tended  its  meetings  with  the  rest  of  the  society. 
On  this  occasion  I  was  struck  with  the  extreme 
youthfulness  of  the  presiding  member,  for  he 
seemed  scarcely  more  than  a  boy.  His  cheeks 
were  rosy  red,  and  his  head  covered  with  thick 
curls,  and  his  mouth  was  quivering  with  interest. 
As  he  spoke,  I  soon  perceived  that  he  was  no  boy, 
but  a  person  of  very  clear  mind  ;  and,  on  inquir 
ing,  was  told  that  it  was  young  Mr.  Andrew,  a 
lawyer  in  Mr.  Fuller's  office. 

As  the  customs  of  our  church  included  occa 
sional  lay -preaching,  it  happened  that  on  several 
occasions  Andrew  occupied  the  pulpit,  and  con 
ducted  the  services.  And  this  he  did  with  such 
simplicity  and  earnestness  that  all  were  glad  to 
listen  to  him. 

He  was  also,  at  this  time,  for  I  speak  now  of 
the  period  between  1840  and  1850,  much  inter 
ested  in  a  new  religious  newspaper,  of  which  he 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  9 

was,  for  a  time,  one  of  the  editors,  and  to  which 
he  was  a  frequent  contributor.  Any  one  who  pos 
sesses  the  early  numbers  of  the  "  Christian  World," 
published  in  Boston  by  Geo.  G.  Channing,  will 
find  therein  many  striking  articles  from  the  eager 
and  industrious  pen  of  this  young  lawyer. 

He  was  by  nature  and  education  a  religious 
man,  fond  of  the  Bible  and  familiar  with  it.  There 
was  no  sentimentalism  about  him,  though  much 
sentiment.  He  was  fond  of  prayer-meetings  and 
conference-meetings.  During  many  years  he  at 
tended  quite  regularly  the  meeting  above  referred 
to,  held  for  conversation  on  all  important  questions 
in  religion,  morals,  and  social  life  ;  and  he  always 
spoke  clearly,  strongly,  and  sweetly.  The  simple 
customs  of  the  church  suited  him.  While  Gov 
ernor  of  the  State,  and  amid  the  great  responsibili 
ties  of  the  war,  he  would'  usually  stop  after  church 
on  Sunday,  and  talk  for  half  an  hour  with  any 
of  the  members  who  chanced  to  stay,  calling  them 
Brother  A.  and  Sister  B.,  as  of  old.  Whatever 
comes  of  good  manners,  —  civility  to  all,  an  equal 
attention  to  all,  —  that  was  natural  to  him.  But 
the  mere  etiquettes  and  conventional  proprieties 
of  position  he  never  seemed  to  notice.  In  this  he 
resembled  John  Quincy  Adams,  who  once,  when 
presiding  over  a  convention  of  Unitarians,  began 
his  address  thus :  "  Brethren  and  Sisters."  Where 
upon,  when  Father  Taylor,  the  Methodist  sailor- 
preacher,  was  afterward  called  upon  to  speak,  he 


10  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

said,  "  I  have  heard  wonderful  words  to-day  !  I 
have  heard  a  man,  whose  arm  has  wielded  the 
armies  and  navies  of  the  nation,  say  to  all  of  us, 
4  Brothers  and  Sisters.'  But  that  was  right,  for 
all  will  be  brothers  and  sisters  in  Heaven.  There 
will  be  then  only  '  Brother  Christian,'  and  not  any 
4  Honorable  Mr.  Christian,'  nor  '  Judge  Chris 
tian,'  nor  even  4  Rev.  Dr.  Christian.'  ' 

John  Andrew  and  Father  Taylor  were  dear 
friends.  For  many  years  Andrew  was  secretary 
of  the  Boston  Port  Society,  which  sustained  Father 
Taylor's  chapel.  Nor  did  he  resign  that  office 
when  he  became  Governor,  but  attended  the  meet 
ings  as  before,  not  to  preside  over  them,  but  sim 
ply  to  keep  the  records  as  clerk  of  the  corporation. 
He  loved  to  go  to  Father  Taylor's  conference 
meetings  and  talk  with  the  sailors,  and  listen  to 
the  rough  sons  of  the  ocean,  when  made  tender  by 
the  sense  of  God's  presence,  and  by  the  softening 
influences  of  the  place  and  hour.  Also  when,  as  he 
said,  he  wanted  "  a  good  warm  time,"  he  would  go 
to  the  meetings  of  the  Colored  Methodist  Church, 
of  which  Brother  Grimes  was  pastor.  And  Mr. 
Grimes  always  came  to  Andrew  when  he  needed 
anything  for  his  people.  In  that  church,  with 
the  colored  people,  John  Andrew  would  often  be 
found,  sitting  among  them,  joining  heartily  in 
their  hymns,  or  listening  with  his  open  sympathiz 
ing  expression  of  face  to  their  prayers  and  exhor 
tations. 


I  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  11 

One  of  the  occasions,  upon  which  I  was  struck 
by  his  mental  and  religious  utterances,  was  in 
1845,  when  he  spoke  earnestly  at  a  meeting  of 
our  church,  to  prevent  a  secession  of  members  who 
thought  it  necessary  to  leave  it  on  account  of  an 
exchange  of  pulpits  between  the  pastor  and  Theo 
dore  Parker. 

44  Brethren,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  believe  in  the 
principle  of  come-out-ism.  I  am  not  a  come-outer. 
I  am  a  stay-iner.  I  shall  not  leave  this  church 
because  the  majority  differ  from  me,  on  this  or 
any  other  question.  You  may,  indeed,  turn  me 
out,  but  you  cannot  make  me  go  out  of  my  own 
accord.  This  is  my  religious  home ;  and  if  you 
turn  me  out  of  your  meetings,  I  will  stand  on  the 
outside,  and  look  in  through  the  window,  and  see 
you.  If  I  cannot  do  this,  I  will  come  the  next 
day,  and  sit  in  the  place  where  you  have  been,  and 
commune  with  you.  I  belong  to  your  communion, 
and  must  belong  to  it  always."  So  tenderly  did 
he  say  this,  that  many  were  dissolved  in  tears. 
All  the  ^elements  of  the  great  lawyer  and  orator 
were  in  this  argument,  delivered  to  a  hundred 
people  in  a  private  house.  I  can  understand  from 
that  speech  what  the  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Massachusetts  meant  by  saying,  that 
though  he  sat  on  the  bench  when  Choate  and 
Webster  and  other  great  lawyers  of  the  Suffolk 
bar  had  argued  before  him,  he  had  never  been  so 
touched  as  to  be  obliged  to  hide  his  emotion,  ex? 
cept  when  listening  to  Governor  Andrew. 


12  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

In  our  church,  Andrew  was  always  foremost  in 
all  plans  and  movements  of  benevolence  and  re 
form.  His  contributions  were  large  and  generous 
for  the  freedmen,  for  the  prisoners,  for  the  street- 
boys,  for  the  poor,  for  the  home  for  aged  colored 
women.  He  always  did  the  most  for  those  most 
forlorn  and  helpless ;  his  maxim  being,  "  Aux 
plus  deshe'rite's  le  plus  d'amour." 

I  have  a  letter  from  Governor  Andrew  received 
near  the  close  of  the  war,  which  he  wrote  one 
Sunday  evening;  in  which  he  referred  to  a  sug 
gestion  made  in  church  that  day,  that,  at  our 
Wednesday  evening  meeting,  we  should  attempt 
an  efficient  movement  in  behalf  of  the  suffering 
freedmen. 

I  desire  to  echo  your  suggestion We  in  the 

North  are  in  comfort  and  prosperity.  We  must  inter 
vene  for  the  immediate  preservation  of  the  colored 
people  of  the  South,  powerless  for  the  moment  to  save 
themselves,  and  by  wise  and  prudent  generosity  help  to 

float  them  over,  until  a  new  crop  can  be  made 

I  presume  I  shall  not  be  able  to  attend  the%meeting ; 
but  I  beg  the  privilege  of  helping  its  purpose,  though 
absent.  And  therefore  I  write  to.  express  the  hope 
that  our  congregation  will  move  in  the  most  efficient 
way,  and  to  ask  your  acceptance  of  a  subscription  of  one 
hundred  dollars  from  yours  faithfully  and  cordially, 

JOHN  A.  ANDREW. 

It  is  said  that  when  all  the  parts  of  a  great 
building,  like  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  are  in  good 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  13 

proportion  and  perfect  symmetry,  nothing  looks 
very  large.  And  so  when  all  the  faculties  of  a 
man  are  well  developed,  lie  does  not  seem  so  great 
a  man  as  when  he  has  some  single  power  devel 
oped  in  an  abnormal  manner.  Such  a  full, 
rounded  character  was  that  of  John  A.  Andrew. 
He  was  no  fanatic  in  any  respect ;  he  was  not  ex 
travagant  in  any  direction ;  although  a  reformer, 
he  was  not  an  extreme  reformer ;  although  a  con 
servative,  he  was  not  an  ultra  conservative.  In 
every  direction  his  life  seemed  to  flow  out  easily 
and  happily,  and  to  unfold  itself  in  an  entire  and 
perfect  harmony.  During  those  twenty  years, 
when  he  was  practicing  law  in  this  city,  he  was 
already  very  much  interested  in  the  anti-slavery 
cause.  I  believe  he  never  became  a  member  of 
the  Garrisonian  Abolitionist  Society,  yet  he  was 
intimate  and  friendly  with  them,  and  always  ready 
to  defend  any  person  arrested  under  the  Fugitive 
Law  of  1850. 

The  generation  which  is  now  growing  up  does 
not,  cannot,  understand  the  intense  interest  and 
romance  of  that  period.  The  law  of  1850,  for 
restoring  fugitives  to  their  owners,  was  passed 
hastily,  under  the  impression  on  the  part  of  Con 
gress  that  something  of  the  sort  was  necessary  to 
save  the  Union.  But  it  was  a  most  unrighteous 
and  unconstitutional  law.  The  Constitution  of 
the  United  States  says,  that  in  all  suits  in  com 
mon  law,  in  which  the  value  at  issue  is  more  than 


14  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

twenty  dollars,  the  right  of  jury  trial  shall  be 
maintained ;  but  a  colored  man  living  as  a  free 
man  in  Massachusetts,  with  the  presumption  of 
freedom  in  his  favor,  could,  under  that  law,  be  ar 
rested  and  turned  into  a  slave  without  ever  seeing 
a  judge  or  a  jury.  This  fugitive  slave  law  was  so 
opposed  to  law  and  to  gospel,  and  so  contrary  to 
the  sentiment  of  common  humanity,  that  it  per 
haps  did  more  for  the  anti-slavery  cause  than  any 
thing  else,  particularly  when  it  was  enforced  by  a 
conscientious  and  honest  marshal  or  commissioner, 
who  thought  it  his  duty  to  carry  it  out  faithfully, 
as  he  would  any  other  law.  Then  it  would  arouse 
against  it  the  moral  sense  of  a  large  part  of  the 
community.  Each  time  that  a  fugitive  was  ar 
rested  in  Boston,  another  blow  was  inflicted  on 
slavery,  and  new  converts  made  to  the  abolition 
ists.  It  needed  little  argument  to  convince  a  com 
munity  educated  through  many  generations  in  the 
principles  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  that 
a  man  who  had  gained  his  freedom  at  the  risk  of 
his  life,  and  by  means  of  heroic  efforts  and  a  mar 
tyr's  endurance,  had  a  right  to  that  freedom. 
Great  crowds  in  the  meetings  of  the  abolitionists, 
in  Faneuil  Hall  or  other  places  of  assemblage, 
were  thrilled  at  the  sight  of  the  dark  faces  and 
the  broken  words  of  these  refugees  from  that  iron 
bondage.  There  might  be  seen  Frederick  Doug 
las,  soon  to  become  one  of  the  great  orators  of 
the  land.  Or  there  might  be  Henry  Brown,  who 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  15 

escaped  from  slavery  in  a  packing-box ;  or  William 
Crafts,  whose  wife,  disguised  as  a  young  southern 
planter,  brought  her  husband  with  her  in  the  ca 
pacity  of  a  body  servant ;  or  Lewis  Hayden,  who 
escaped  from  Kentucky  with  his  family ;  or  Father 
Henson,  whose  story  equals  in  romance  anything 
invented  by  the  imagination  of  poet  or  novelist. 
When  men  like  these  were  in  danger  of  arrest  and 
return  to  torture  and  death,  no  wonder  that  men 
cursed  those  who  framed  and  defended  the  law  by 
which  they  were  seized,  under  the  shadow  of  Bun 
ker  Hill.  No  wonder  that  Blackstone  and  the 
Bible  and  all  the  noblest  records  of  the  race  were 
appealed  to,  to  show  that  there  was  a  law  of 
supreme  justice,  higher  than  any  human  enact 
ment,  which  forbade  their  surrender.  These  ques 
tions  stirred  the  blood  of  men,  agitated  their 
minds,  and  divided  the  community  into  parties. 
On  one  side  were  the  politicians;  the  conserva 
tives  ;  commerce,  fearing  the  loss  of  southern  cus 
tom  ;  and  good  society,  which  regarded  abolition 
as  in  bad  taste.  On  the  other  side  was  youth,  en 
thusiasm  for  ideas,  "  the  strong  siding  champion," 
conscience,  and  the  deeper  religious  conviction. 
To  this  last  company  Andrew  belonged.  In  his 
law-office  you  would  often  find  these  fugitives. 
They  knew  that  they  had  a  friend  there  to  whom 
they  could  always  go  for  advice  and  comfort. 

One  of  these  men,  who  enjoyed  for  many  years 
the  friendship  of  Mr.  Andrew,  was  Lewis  Hayden. 


16  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

He  had  been  a  slave  in  Kentucky,  and  had  es 
caped,  many  years  before,  by  the  help  of  Rev. 
Calvin  Fairbank  and  Miss  Delia  Webster,  who 
were  arrested,  convicted,  and  sent  to  the  Ken 
tucky  Penitentiary  for  this  act  of  illegal  human 
ity.  Lewis  went  first  to  Detroit,  and  from  there 
came  to  Boston  on  a  mission  to  obtain  funds  for  a 
church  of  poor  colored  people  in  that  place.  He 
spoke  in  their  behalf  to  our  congregation  one  Sun 
day  evening,  and  thrilled  us  with  the  eloquence 
born  out  of  stern  reality,  —  for  "  wretched  men  " 
are  not  only  "  cradled  into  poetry  by  wrong,"  as 
Shelley  tells  us,  but  also  into  eloquence.  I  well 
remember  now,  after  an  interval  of  twenty-five  or 
thirty  years,  Hayden's  description  of  his  sufferings 
and  his  escape.  He  said  that  he  first  became  de 
sirous  of  freedom  from  hearing  a  fellow-servant 
read  aloud  one  of  the  speeches  against  slavery,  de 
livered  in  Congress  by  Mr.  Slade  of  Vermont. 
"  I  never  knew  my  misery  till  then,"  said  he.  "  I 
went  home,  and  looked  at  my  wife  and  my  chil 
dren,  as  they  lay  asleep,  and  said,  c  You  are  my 
wife  now,  but  you  may  not  be  my  wife  to-morrow. 
You  are  my  children  now,  but  to-morrow  I  may 
have  no  children,  for  you  may  be  sold  away  from 
me,  and  I  cannot  help  it.'  '  Mr.  Hayden  after 
ward  settled  in  Boston,  and  has  risen  by  his  in 
telligence  and  worth  to  positions  of  honor  and 
influence.  He  was  associated  as  an  assistant  to 
Governor  Andrew  in  the  State  House,  and  has 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  17 

since  been  elected  to  the  Legislature    of   Massa 
chusetts. 

In  1851,  Shadrach,  a  colored  waiter  in  a  hotel 
in  Boston,  was  arrested  as  a  fugitive  slave,  and 
was  forcibly  rescued  by  a  body  of  colored  men, 
"  under  the  lead,"  as  Mr.  Wilson  says,  "  of  Lewis 
Mayden."  Hayden  was  arrested,  tried,  and  ac 
quitted.  I  was  residing  in  Western  Pennsylvania 
at  the  time,  and  wrote  a  note  to  Hayden,  in  rela 
tion  to  which  I  received  the  following  one  from 
John  Andrew,  which  I  insert  here  chiefly  for  the 
sake  of  the  concluding  sentences  :  — 

BOSTON,  5th  March,  1851. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Lewis  Hayden  received  a  line  from 
you  last  evening,  which  he  begged  me  to  answer  in  his 
behalf,  and  to  express  for  him  the  gratitude  he  feels  for 
the  kindness  and  sympathy  you  entertain  toward  him. 
It  gratified  him  beyond  measure,  that  you  should  thus 
remember  him.  He  is  bound  over  to  answer  to  the 
next  term  of  the  U.  S.  District  Court.  But  I  have  no 
idea  that  he,  or  any  other  person,  will  be  convicted. 
The  poorest  colored  man  finds  no  difficulty  in  procuring 
bail  at  a  moment's  warning.  I  think  there  is  a  reac 
tion  commencing.  The  rescue  of  Shadrach  was  a  noble 
thing,  nobly  done.  The  thing  was  the  result  of  the  ex 
temporaneous  effort,  energy,  and  enthusiasm  of  an  old 
man,  a  personal  friend  of  Shadrach,  who  stimulated  by 
his  own  stubborn  zeal  the  few  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact,  to  follow  him  in  his  determination  to  save  his 
friend  (whose  horror  of  a  return  to  slavery  he  had  al 
ways  known)  from  the  hands  of  the  law,  at  whatever 


18  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

personal  hazard.  That  man  will  never  be  found.  In 
deed,  all  the  principal  actors  are,  as  I  understand,  be 
yond  the  reach  of  process. 

God  grant  that  no  man  may  ever  be  sent  from  Mas 
sachusetts  into  the  prison-house  of  slavery.  I  hate  war, 
and  love  peace.  But  I  should  less  regret  the  death  of  a 
hundred  men  defending  successfully  the  sacred  rights  of 
human  nature,  and  the  blood-bought  liberties  of  freemen, 
alike  cloven  down  by  this  infernal  law,  than  I  should  the 
return  to  bondage  of  a  single  fugitive. 

In  great  haste,  your  friend, 

JOHN  A.  ANDREW. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen,  that  ten  years  before  the 
war  began,  John  A.  Andrew  was  prepared  to 
choose  a  war  for  the  sake  of  human  rights  and 
human  freedom,  before  a  peace  which  sacrificed 
both. 

The  object  of  many  men,  conspicuous  in  their 
day,  eminent  as  lawyers,  statesmen,  or  writers,  is 
only  personal  success ;  their  motive,  personal  am 
bition.  Such  was  not  the  spirit  in  which  Andrew 
studied  and  practiced  in  his  profession,  during  the 
twenty  years  which  followed  his  admission  to  the 
bar  in  1840.  His  own  course  is  best  described  in 
an  address  made  by  him  in  1864,  to  the  graduat 
ing  class  of  the  Medical  School  of  Harvard  Uni 
versity,  in  which  he  thus  spoke  :  — 

"  There  is  nothing  more  practically  and  simply  true 
than  that  success,  abiding  and  secure,  the  happiness  and 
usefulness  of  a  professional  career,  is  proportioned  to  the 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  19 

purity,  singleness,  and  generosity  of  the  purpose  with 
which  it  is  pursued.  No  thinking  man  has  lived  to 
middle  age  who  has  not  seen,  with  his  own  eyes,  brilliant 
powers  thrown  away,  capacity  for  lasting  impression  on 
society  and  for  solid  happiness  as  the  reward  of  real  good 
accomplished,  made  the  forfeit  of  the  poor  and  selfish 
pursuit  of  changeful  fortune,  or  uncertain  fame,  or  in 
glorious  ease.  What  a  defeat  is  such  a  life  !  "Will  you 
treat  your  profession  as  a  trade,  out  of  which  merely  to 
make  your  bread,  while  you  indulge  every  whim  of  a 
mind  to  which  duty  is  irksome,  and  fruitful  toil  a  mere 
fatigue  ?  Then  you  sacrifice  the  hope  of  honorable  com 
petence,  of  solid  reputation,  the  sweet  and  infinite  satis 
factions  of  a  worthy  life.  Will  you  use  it  as  the  mere 
instrument  of  sordid  gain?  Then  you  sacrifice  your 
love  for  Science,  who  stands  waiting  to  feed  you  with 
immortal  food,  while  you  dwarf  your  soul  to  the  worship 

of  the  very  dust  she  treads  under  her  feet The 

first  duty  of  a  citizen  is  to  regard  himself  as  made  for 
his  country,  not  to  regard  his  country  as  made  for  him. 
If  he  will  but  subordinate  his  own  selfhood  and  ambi 
tion  enough  to  perceive  how  great  is  his  country  and 
how  infinitely  less  is  he,  he  presently  becomes  a  sharer 
in  her  glory  and  partaker  of  her  greatness.  He  is 
strengthened  by  her  strength,  and  inspired  by  her  intel 
lectual  and  moral  life.  Standing  utterly  alone,  what 
man  is  anything?  But  associated  with  his  fellows,  he 
receives  the  instruments,  the  means,  the  opportunities, 
and  facilities  for  action." 

In  1859,  when  the  memorable  invasion  of  Vir 
ginia,  by  John  Brown,  took  place,  I  recollect  that 


20  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

brother  Andrew  came  into  one  of  our  Wednes 
day  evening  conference  meetings,  and  told  us  that 
fearing  the  old  Ossawattomie  hero  would  have  no 
sufficient  legal  defense,  he  had  telegraphed  to  em 
inent  counsel  in  Washington  to  secure  them  in 
the  case,  and  had  made  himself  responsible  for  (I 
think)  thirteen  hundred  dollars  for  legal  expenses. 
He  gave  us  an  opportunity  to  contribute  a  part  of 
this  sum,  which  was  done  on  the  spot.  Having 
made  himself  thus  prominent  in  behalf  of  the  old 
hero,  he  was  summoned  to  Washington  to  appear 
before  the  Committee  of  Congress  appointed  to 
investigate  the  affair  at  Harper's  Ferry.  He  was 
there  questioned  by  Jefferson  Davis  of  Mississippi, 
and  Mason  of  Virginia,  as  to  his  motives  in  being 
at  such  trouble  and  expense.  The  testimony  he 
gave  was  exactly  like  himself,  straightforward, 
open,  frank.  When  they  asked  him  what  he  had 
done,  he  told  how  he  had  collected  money  and 
sent  it  on  to  John  Brown,  because  he  thought  his 
hurried  trial  a  judicial  outrage.  When  he  was 
asked  whether  he  did  that  from  his  interest  in 
anti-slavery  or  simply  from  humanity,  he  said 
that  although  it  was  difficult  for  him.  to  sound  his 
own  praise,  yet  he  would  tell  the  committee  that 
on  one  occasion  he  had  gone  to  Washington  to 
obtain  a  pardon  for  a  man  who  was  under  sen 
tence  of  death,  and  obtained  it  and  went  back  and 
gave  it  to  him,  never  having  any  knowledge  of 
him,  nor  ever  having  seen  him  until  he  put  in  his 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  21 

hands  the  President's  message  of  commutation. 
The  man  had  no  friend,  and  he  accordingly  took 
the  trouble  for  him,  without  the  expectation  of  fee 
or  reward. 

Finally,  when  Mr.  Davis  asked  him  what  he 
thought  of  the  course  of  John  Brown  himself,  and 
of  his  character,  he  said  he  thought  that  the  out 
rages  which  he  had  suffered  from  the  pro-slavery 
men  in  Kansas  had  wrought  him  up  to  the  point 
of  doing  what  he  himself  thought  was  an  unlaw 
ful  attack  upon  the  people  of  a  neighboring  State. 
"  And,  since  the  gentleman  has  called  my  atten 
tion  to  the  subject,"  he  continued,  "I  think  the 
attack  made  upon  Senator  Sumner  in  the  Senate 
at  Washington,  which,  so  far  as  I  could  learn  from 
the  public  press,  was,  if  not  justified,  at  least 
winked  at  throughout  the  South,  was  an  act  of 
very  much  greater  danger  to  our  liberties  and  to 
civil  society  than  the  attack  of  a  few  men  upon 
those  living  just  over  the  border  of  a  State."  It 
required  some  courage  to  say  this  at  that  time  in 
Washington,  and  when  he  came  back  to  his  own 
State,  he  was  not  lowered  in  the  opinion  of  the 
people. 

Afterward,  presiding  at  a  meeting  held  for  the 
relief  of  John  Brown's  family,  he  said :  "  Whether 
the  enterprise  of  John  Brown  was  wise  or  foolish, 
right  or  wrong,  John  Brown  himself  was  right. 
I  sympathize  with  the  man,  I  sympathize  with 
the  idea,  because  I  sympathize  and  believe  in  the 
Eternal  Right." 


22  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

That  same  year  he  was  chosen  a  delegate  to 
attend  the  Republican  Presidential  Convention  in 
Chicago,  which  nominated  Abraham  Lincoln  and 
Hannibal  Hamlin.  He,  at  first,  was  in  favor  of 
Mr.  Seward,  and  voted  for  him  as  a  candidate.  I 
believe  he  afterwards  considered  it  fortunate  that 
he  did  not  succeed  in  his  selection  of  a  candidate. 

When  elected  Governor  of  Massachusetts,  in 
November,  1860,  he  had  seen  very  little  of  public 
life,  having  been  a  member  of  the  Legislature 
only  a  single  session,  and  this,  I  think,  was  the 
only  political  office  he  had  ever  held.  But  he 
had,  during  that  session,  easily  made  himself  the 
leader  of  the  House,  and  produced  such  an  im 
pression  of  his  ability  and  force  of  character,  as 
to  cause  him  to  be  nominated  for  Governor,  in 
spite  of  the  opposition  of  the  regular  politicians, 
who  had  made  quite  different  arrangements.  But 
the  people  knew  well,  by  that  instinct  which  in 
serious  times  seems  to  lead  them  aright,  that  John 
A.  Andrew  was  the  man  wanted  in  the  coming 
crisis. 

He  was  elected  Governor  of  Massachusetts  by 
the  largest  popular  vote  ever  cast  for  any  candi 
date,  and  for  five  years  he  was  reflected  Governor 
every  year  by  the  general  voice  of  the  people,  in 
spite  of  frequent  opposition  from  the  smaller  sort 
of  politicians.  But  John  Andrew  and  the  people 
of  Massachusetts  knew  each  other,  and  they  agreed 
very  well  together.  Of  that  magnificent  record 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  23 

of  the  War-governor  of  Massachusetts  it  would 
take  too  long  to  speak  adequately,  and  it  is  not 
necessary,  for  it  is  in  all  our  memories,  in  all  our 
hearts.  We  remember  his  foresight,  prophetic  of 
the  coming  hurricane,  his  preparations,  his  getting 
the  militia  of  the  State  into  working  order,  the 
ridicule  cast  upon  the  two  thousand  overcoats  and 
blankets  which  we  afterwards  saw  warming  our 
Sixth  Regiment  in  the  storms  in  the  famous  days 
of  1861.  We  remember  how  he  thought  of  every 
thing  and  put  life,  courage,  and  heart  into  every-" 
thing  ;  how  he  did  the  work  of  many  men  in  the 
State  House,  tiring  out  his  aids  anrj  secretaries, 
and  after  they  had  done  all  they  could,  locking 
himself  in  his  room,  and  sitting  there  half  the 
night  writing  and  thinking  and  preparing  for  the 
next  day ;  how  he  ordered  rifles  from  England, 
armed  steamers,  fortified  the  coast,  made  repeated 
visits  to  Washington,  and  strengthened  Mr.  Lin 
coln  and  others  in  their  determination  to  uphold 
the  Union.  We  remember  how  he  initiated  the 
movement  of  colored  troops,  and  staked  his  popu 
larity  upon  the  measure ;  how  he  attended  the 
convention  of  loyal  governors  at  Altoona,  and 
drew  up  their  address  ;  all  this  is  fresh  in  all 
men's  memories.  On  the  very  day  of  his  inaugu 
ration  as  Governor  of  the  State,  he  sent  one  of  his 
secretaries  to  interview  Governor  Washburn  of 
Maine,  to  inform  him  what,  in  his  opinion,  was 
necessary  for  the  New  England  States  to  put  them 


24  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

in  a  condition  to  defend  Washington.1  I  saw  him 
at  Readville  present  a  flag  to  the  Fifty-fourth 
(colored)  Regiment,  which,  under  Colonel  Shaw, 
did  such  work  at  Fort  Wagner ;  and  of  that  flag, 
only  the  staff  came  back  to  the  State  House.  In 
the  attack  on  Fort  Wagner,  on  the  18th  of  July, 
1863,  Sergeant  Carney,  a  full-blooded  African, 
grasped  these  colors  from  the  dying  color-sergeant, 
as  they  were  falling  from  his  hands,  and  bore 
them  to  the  parapet ;  he  fell  himself,  struck  by 
ftve  bullets,  but  still  held  the  staff  in  his  hands, 
and,  as  he  was  carried  back,  he  said,  "  The  old 
flag  never  touched  the  ground,  boys !  "  That  was 
one  of  the  instances  of  the  war  which  Governor 
Andrew  delighted  to  repeat. 

All  those  who  had  anything  to  do  with  him 
while  Governor,  agree  in  regard  to  his  great 
power  as  a  worker.  Colonel  Albert  G.  Browne, 
in  his  extremely  interesting  memoir  of  the  offi 
cial  life  of  Governor  Andrew,  testifies  to  what  he 
saw  of  this  in  his  position  as  military  secretary. 
"  Almost  invariably  he  was  at  the  State  House  as 
early  or  even  earlier  than  either  of  his  secretaries, 
and  his  appearance  was  the  signal  for  fresh  work 
in  every  department  of  the  building.  Paying 
hasty  calls  at  the  offices  of  the  Adjutant-general 
and  the  Surgeon-general,  on  his  way,  nine  o'clock 

1  This  secretary  was  Albert  G.  Browne.  The  answer  returned 
by  Governor  Washburn  was :  "  Wherever  Massachusetts  leads, 
Maine  will  follow  close,  if  she  cannot  keep  abreast." 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  25 

rarely  found  him  absent  from  his  own  desk ;  and 
there  he  continued  until  sunset,  and  often  until 
long  past  midnight,  unless  some  public  duty  called 
him  elsewhere.  His  private  affairs  were  utterly 
neglected.  His  family  he  rarely  saw  by  daylight, 
except  in  the  early  morning  and  on  Sundays,  and 
to  a  man  of  so  affectionate  a  disposition  this  was 

the  greatest  sacrifice During  the  few  first 

months  of  the  war  his  labor  at  the  State  House 
averaged  twelve  hours  daily ;  and  during  April 
and  May,  1861,  the  gray  light  of  morning  often 
mingled  with  the  gaslight  on  his  table,  before  he 
abandoned  work,  discharged  his  weary  assistants, 
and  walked  down  the  hill  to  his  little  house  on 
Charles  Street,  to  snatch  a  few  hours  of  sleep  be 
fore  beginning  the  task  of  another  day.  After 
his  bath  and  hasty  breakfast  he  would  reappear 
at  the  State  House  as  fresh  as  the  morning  itself, 
without  a  trace  perceptible  to  the  casual  visitor  of 
irritation  or  fatigue,  while  perhaps  half  an  hour 
later  his  attendants  of  the  previous  night  would 

come  to  their  places  cross  and  jaded He 

held  every  one  strictly  to  the  full  measure  of  duty. 
Great  was  his  indignation,  one  dreary  afternoon, 
the  day  before  Christmas,  at  finding  the  office  of 
the  Secretary  of  the  Commonwealth  closed  half  an 
hour  earlier  than  usual.  There  was  a  severe  snow 
storm  raging,  which  suspended  business  throughout 
the  city ;  and  the  clerks  of  that  office  had  closed  it, 
forgetting  that  there  should  have  been  drawn  and 


26  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

forwarded  up  stairs  for  the  Governor's  signature, 
a  pardon  which  had  been  granted  to  a  convict  in 
the  State  Prison,  according  to  a  custom  which  he 
had  of  granting  one  pardon,  each  Christmas  morn 
ing,  upon  the  recommendation  of  the  warden.  It 
irritated  him  that  the  clerks  below  should  have 
forgotten  such  a  duty.  During  his  own  hard  work 
during  the  day,  the  thought  of  the  happiness 
which  the  morrow  would  bring  to  that  convict 
had  lightened  his  heart,  and  he  felt  a  positive 
pain  that  others  should  not  have  shared  that  feel 
ing.  Though  unwell,  he  hastily  broke  out  of  the 
room,  walked  through  the  driving  snow  across  the 
city  to  the  house  of  one  of  the  officers  of  the  State 
Department,  brought  him  back  to  the  State  House, 
stood  by  while  the  pardon  was  drawn  and  the 
great  seal  of  the  Commonwealth  attached  to  it, 
signed  it,  and  despatched  it  by  one  of  his  secre 
taries  to  the  prison." 

Warden  Haynes  has  said  that  there  was  never 
a  governor  who  took  such  interest  in  the  prisoners 
in  Charlestown.  When  he  went  over  there  and 
found  that  there  were  men  confined  in  the  solitary 
cells,  he  would  sometimes  go  into  a  cell  and  be 
shut  in  with  the  man.  One  evening  he  said  to 
me,  "  I  have  been  to  Westborough  Reform  School 
to-day,  and  this  little  incident  occurred  there. 
After  the  boys  had  gone  through  their  various  ex 
ercises  and  repeated  their  lessons,  and  they  had 
all  gone  out  to  their  dinner,  and  the  rest  of  the 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  27 

company  were  following,  I  heard  a  little  voice 
calling,  '  Governor  Andrew,  Governor  Andrew.' 
I  looked  up  and  did  not  see  where  it  could  come 
from.  At  last  I  saw,  at  the  upper  part  of  the  hall, 
a  gallery,  and  behind  it  some  closed  doors.  These 
were  the  doors  of  cells,  and  in  one  of  these  a  boy 
was  confined,  whose  voice  I  had  heard  calling  to 
me.  I  asked  who  he  was,  and  was  told  that  he 
was  a  boy  shut  up  for  some  offense  and  not 
allowed  to  go  out  during  the  day. 

"  I  ordered  him  to  be  brought  down,  and  learned 
that  when  he  was  first  brought  to  the  school,  he 
had  been  badgered  and  teased  by  the  other  boys, 
who  had  harassed  him  until,  at  la.st,  provoked 
by  them,  he  had  told  of  some  offense  which  one 
of  them  did,  and  got  him  punished.  Afterward, 
guilty  of  some  offense  himself,  he  was  told  of, 
and  was  suffering  the  punishment  for  it.  So  I  or 
dered  all  the  boys  to  be  called  in,  and  putting 
the  little  fellow  beside  me,  in  a  kind  way,  told  the 
boys  what  they  had  done,  and  explained  to  them 
how  much  better  it  would  have  been  if  they  had 
used  the  little  fellow  kindly.  I  tried  to  make 
them  feel  the  loneliness  of  this  little  stranger  come 
among  them,  and  how  mean  it  was  to  torment  him 
instead  of  comforting  him.  They  had  made  a  tell 
tale  of  him  by  teasing  him,  and  then  became  tell 
tales  themselves.  I  made  them  promise  to  do 
differently  with  the  next  boy,  and  said  I  should 
ask  them  about  it  when  I  came  again."  In  that 


28  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

way  he  always  contrived  to  produce  an  impression 
upon  those  with  whom  he  was  talking.  Father 
Finnotti,  in  a  very  affectionate  article  which  he 
wrote  for  the  "  Boston  Post "  shortly  after  Governor 
Andrew's  funeral,  told  how  he  had  frequently 
been  to  him  to  get  a  pardon  for  some  convict,  and 
how  glad  Governor  Andrew  was  when  he  could 
grant  his  request,  and  how  firm  he  was  when  he 
could  not  conscientiously  do  it.  Then  he  would 
say :  "  No,  Father  Finnotti,  I  cannot  do  it ;  my 
duty  to  the  State  prevents  it."  "  And,"  said  Father 
Finnotti,  "  I  went  away  feeling  a  greater  respect 
for  the  man  than  I  ever  had  before."  Once,  on 
the  Sunday  after  Governor  Andrew's  death,  after 
church,  a  man  with  tears  in  his  eyes  told  me  how 
Governor  Andrew  once  gave  his  services  to  him 
as  counsel,  gratuitously,  when  no  one  else  would 
take  the  case.  Oliver  Warner,  the  Secretary  of 
State,  could  not  say  enough  of  the  personal  kind 
ness  of  which  he  had  been  the  witness  on  the 
part  of  Governor  Andrew.  To  all  those  who  were 
friendless  he  was  a  friend. 

A  lady  who  has  taught  a  school  of  colored  chil 
dren  at  Port  Royal,  S.  C,,  during  many  years, 
described  to  me  her  last  interview  with  Andrew 
after  he  had  returned  to  his  law  office  in  Boston. 
She  had  consulted  him  about  a  claim  for  damages 
for  certain  articles  lost  on  a  vessel  burned  at  sea. 
"  I  found  him,"  says  she,  "  talking  with  a  gentle 
man  on  some  minor  point  of  law,  which  Mr. 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  29 

Andrew  explained  to  him  again  and  again ;  but  the 
listener  failed  to  apprehend  the  idea,  and  so  Mr. 
Andrew  was  obliged  to  return  to  it,  with  that '  But 
don't  you  see  ? '  which  must  be  so  disheartening. 
When  the  man  left,  Mr.  Andrew  turned  to  a  lady 
sitting  by,  in  whom  he  recognized,  I  think,  some 
one  who  had  formerly  been  a  member  of  his  fam 
ily.  She  wanted  his  influence  to  get  a  situation 
as  copyist.  He  listened  and  advised,  without  pre 
occupation  or  hurry,  and  with  the  tenderness  and 
gentleness  of  a  brother.  Then  came  my  turn. 
As  he  shook  hands,  I  said,  4  I  thought  a  teacher 
required  some  patience,  but  I  believe  a  lawyer 
needs  the  most.'  He  laughed,  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  with  the 
same  weary  look  I  had  seen  before  ;  and  then  im 
mediately  began  to  talk  as  eagerly  as  if  mine  were 
the  only  business  in  hand.  I  had  written  a  state 
ment  of  our  shipwreck ;  and  when  I  reported  to 
him  that  an  officer  of  the  boat  was  heard  to  say, 
4  There  are  niggers  and  nigger-teachers  enough  on 
board  to  damn  any  boat ! '  his  face  expressed  his 
indignation.  Then  he  asked  many  questions  about 
our  work,  laughing  loud  at  the  negro  who  said  4  he 
was  just  crazy  for  larn,'  and  the  woman  who  was 
learning  the  alphabet,  and  said  she  4  had  been  chas 
ing  that  letter'  (meaning  B.)  'the  whole  night, 
and  couldn't  catch  him.'  As  I  went  away,  he  gave 
me  a  fervent  God-speed  in  our  work." 

These   little  anecdotes  will  show  how  genuine 


30  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

was  his  humanity,  and  how  natural  to  him  it 
always  was  to  think  of  the  wretched,  and  of  those 
who  had  no  helper.  He  acted  thus  both  from 
feeling  and  conviction.  It  was  a  natural  instinct, 
and  a  sacred  principle.  Always  hopeful,  always 
humane,  the  cynicism  which  some  persons  regard 
as  wisdom  was  intolerable  to  him.  But  he  was 
no  blind  enthusiast.  He  regarded  what  was  pos 
sible  as  carefully  as  what  was  desirable.  He 
examined  the  means  as  closely  as  the  end.  He 
saw  that  most  questions  have  two  sides,  and  that 
only  by  being  just  to  both,  can  we  be  of  use  to 
either.  Therefore,  though  a  determined  anti- 
slavery  man,  he  was  never  able  to  join  Mr.  Gar 
rison's  party  in  denouncing  the  Constitution  and 
demanding  a  dissolution  of  the  Union.1  Though 

1  This  balanced  judgment  is  well  shown  in  the  following  state 
ment  of  General  Sargent :  "  He  was  as  independent  of  f  avor 
as  he  was  of  fear.  He  had  the  excellent  quality  of  resistance  to 
the  improper  solicitation  of  those  to  whom  he  not  only  owed  a 
part  of  his  advancement,  but  whose  sympathies  were  his  own. 
In  a  memorable  week  of  1861,  when  the  so-called  conservative 
hostility  to  John  Brown  and  his  supporters  was  at  white  heat 
and  violence  was  imminent,  the  Governor  was  earnestly  solicited 
to  preside  at  a  meeting  in  honor  of  John  Brown,  that  the  Exec 
utive  presence  might  deter  the  mob  from  outrage.  The  solicita 
tion  was  fervid  and  eloquent.  In  the  evening  that  preceded  the 
meeting  at  which  his  presence  was  requested,  the  Governor,  with 
a  single  staff  officer,  went  by  appointment  to  give  a  final  answer 
to  the  request.  A  large  but  solemn  conclave  of  earnest  men  like 
himself  awaited  his  coming. 

"After  kind  greeting  and  hearing  a  few  words  from  some  of 
them,  Governor  Andrew  spoke,  with  as  much  emotion  as  com- 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  31 

a  strong  peace  man,  he  was  no  non-resistant. 
Though  an  earnest  temperance  man,  he  was  not 
a  total-abstinent,  nor  a  prohibitionist.  Violent 
men,  on  both  sides,  denounced  him  for  this  mod 
eration.  He  was  bitterly  blamed  by  an  eminent 
abolitionist  for  not  bringing  the  State  power  to 
put  down  a  set  of  noisy  gentlemen  who  made  some 
disturbance  in  an  anti-slavery  meeting  in  Boston. 
Because  he  defended  the  policy  of  license  against 
that  of  prohibition,  he  was  accused  in  temperance 
meetings  of  being  in  the  daily  habit  of  drunken 
ness —  though  he  scarcely  ever  drank  the  whole 
of  a  single  glass  of  wine  at  dinner.  Because  he 
refused  to  sign  the  warrant  for  the  execution  of  a 

ported  with  firmness,  nearly  as  follows  :  '  You  know,  my  friends, 
how  dear  this  cause  of  anti-slavery  has  been  and  is  to  my  heart. 
You  know  how  we  have  hoped  and  prayed  and  toiled  together. 
You  know  what  I  think  of  John  Brown  as  a  man,  and  how  surely 
I  believe  that  his  memory  as  a  martyr  will  remain  when  constitu 
tions  shall  be  forgotten.  You  know  how  keenly  I  should  feel 
reproach  from  you,  my  coadjutors,  for  any  supposed  recreancy 
to  a  cause,  when  official  position  that  I  owe  in  great  measure  to 
my  advocacy  of  it  gives  me,  as  you  think,  power  to  serve  it.  But 
perhaps  you  do  not  feel,  as  I  feel,  how  much  easier  it  is  to  inveigh 
against  a  public  officer,  when  we  are  not  responsible  for  the  ad 
ministration  of  his  office,  than  it  is  to  properly  administer  an 
office  which  is  a  trust  for  all  the  people  of  the  State.  With  all 
sympathy  with  the  anti-slavery  cause,  and  believing  all  that  I 
have  said  of  John  Brown  to  be  true,  and  with  all  affection  and 
respect  for  you,  I  cannot,  as  a  magistrate,  so  far  forget  the  trust 
reposed  in  me  by  the  Commonwealth  as  to  expose  her  highest 
executive  office  to  indignity  and  reproach  by  presiding  at  a  meet 
ing  convoked  to  celebrate  an  act  which,  as  a  lawyer,  I  know  is 
technically  treason.' " 


32  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

murderer,  he  was  accused  of  being  false  to  his 
oath  of  office,  and  following  his  anti-capital  pun 
ishment  prejudices.  There  was  great  excitement 
against  him  through  the  State  for  his  course  in  this 
matter,  and  he  gave  no  reason  publicly  for  it.  I 
once  asked  him  why  he  did  not  take  some  method 
of  giving  his  reasons  and  explaining  to  the  people 
the  grounds  of  his  non-action.  His  reply  was : 
"If  I  did  this,  it  would  seem  as  though  I  were 
placing  myself  in  opposition  to  the  courts,  which 
would  be  an  evil.  I  prefer  to  bear  the  misrep 
resentation  myself.  My  back  is  broad  enough  for 
that." 

Governor  Andrew  was  opposed,  in  principle,  to 
capital  punishment ;  but,  until  it  was  abolished,  he 
deemed  that  it  should  be  inflicted  when  the  law 
required  it.  He  was  also  opposed  to  war,  and  a 
strong  advocate  for  peace.  But  when  the  war 
became  inevitable,  he  put  the  whole  ardor  of  his 
soul  to  rousing  the  North,  and  preparing  it  for  its 
work. 

That  this  was  no  abandonment  of  his  old  convic 
tions  is  certain.  For  I  was  myself  present,  years 
before  the  civil  war  seemed  possible,  and  when  no 
such  event  had  been  dreamed  of,  at  a  peace  meeting 
in  Boston.  Some  of  the  speakers  had  maintained 
that  all  wars  were  wrong  on  both  sides ;  and 
that  no  nation  should  fight,  even  in  self-defense. 
When  Andrew  spoke,  he  denied  this  doctrine,  and, 
though  standing  there  to  defend  the  principles 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  33 

of  peace,  he  said,  "I  had  rather  help  carry  on 
a  war  for  freedom,  justice,  and  humanity,  than 
keep  a  peace  on  merely  mercantile  principles,  and 
for  merely  selfish  considerations."  These  facts  I 
have  referred  to  as  showing  the  equipoise  of  his 
judgment,  and  how  well  he  kept  the  maxim  to 
preserve  an  equal  and  well-balanced  mind  in  all 
emergencies. 

These  judicial  qualities,  this  calm,  joyous,  hope 
ful  temperament,  this  conscience  and  industry,  we 
had  always  known.  But  not  till  the  great  out 
break  of  the  civil  war  did  we  suspect  the  hidden 
powers  of  foresight,  courage,  inspiration,  which 
made  him  so  easily  take  his  place  in  the  very  front 
of  northern  statesmen.  Others  doubted,  ques 
tioned,  waited  to  see  what  would  happen  ;  he  never 
hesitated.  He  seemed  to  see  at  a  glance  all  that 
was  to  come,  and  what  was  needed  to  meet  it.  The 
fiery  trial  which  palsied  so  many  brains  among 
our  eminent  men  gave  to  him  clear  sight,  ready  de 
cision,  and  determined  firmness.  More  than  any 
one  else  he  thus  realized  the  description  of  "  The 
Happy  Warrior  "  by  Wordsworth  :  — 

"  Whose  powers  shed  round  him  in  the  common  strife, 
Or  mild  concerns  of  ordinary  life, 
A  constant  influence,  a  peculiar  grace, 
But  who,  if  he  be  called  upon  to  face 
Some  awful  moment,  to  which  God  has  joined 
Great  issues,  good  or  bad  for  human  kind, 
Is  happy  as  a  lover,  and  attired 
With  sudden  brightness,  like  a  man  inspired, 
3 


34  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

And,  through  the  heat  of  conflict,  keeps  the  law 
In  calmness  made,  and  sees  what  he  foresaw." 

From  the  very  day  of  his  inauguration,  January 
5,  1861,  Governor  Andrew  began  to  prepare  his 
State  for  war.  He  sent  on  that  day  a  messenger 
to  the  governors  of  New  Hampshire  and  Maine,  to 
inform  them  that  he  intended  to  prepare  the  ac 
tive  militia  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts  for  im 
mediate  duty.  Accordingly,  general  orders  were 
issued  to  that  effect  in  the  same  month.  Andrew 
put  himself  early  into  confidential  communication 
with  General  Scott,  and  arranged  with  him  for  the 
march  of  troops  to  Washington,  if  they  should  be 
needed,  and,  when  the  decisive  hour  struck,  Massa 
chusetts  and  her  leader  were  found  ready. 

Immediately  on  the  news  of  the  taking  of  Fort 
Sumter  by  the  confederates,  the  whole  South  be 
came  one  frenzy  of  excitement.  President  Lincoln 
issued  his  call  for  seventy-five  thousand  troops,  of 
which  two  regiments  were  assigned  to  Massachu 
setts.  Within  a  week  from  the  issue  of  this  proc 
lamation,  Governor  Andrew  despatched  five  regi 
ments  to  Washington,  beside  a  battalion  of  rifle 
men  and  a  battery  of  artillery.  This  was  done 
by  means  of  that  wise  foresight  which  led  him  to 
act  at  once,  when  action  was  necessary,  without 
waiting  for  the  slow  delays  of  legislation,  so  that 
in  some  of  his  messages  "it  is  touching,"  says 
Horace  Binney  Sargent,  "  to  read  an  allusion  to 
certain  expenditures  made  4  without  authority  of 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  35 

law,'  but  which  he  leaves  to  the  candor  of  the  Leg 
islature.  The  like  prescience  induced  him,  in  ad 
vance  of  all  statesmen,  to  urge  upon  the  National 
Government  the  then  astonishing  enrolment  of  six 
hundred  thousand  men." 

On  the  morning  when  the  first  telegram  for  aid 
reached  Boston  from  Washington,  the  State  House 
was  in  great  excitement.  Companies  were  being 
selected  for  the  service  from  different  regiments, 
which  were  heard  of  as  being  most  ready.  As  Gov 
ernor  Andrew  was  passing  through  Doric  Hall 
he  heard  a  strong  voice  asking,  "  Will  not  the 
Governor  let  us  go?  We  want  to  go."  Andrew 
asked  what  regiment  it  was ;  learned  it  was  the 
Sixth,  from  Lowell  and  the  adjacent  towns  ;  asked 
when  they  could  set  out ;  learned  that  they  could 
be  ready  by  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  and 
ordered  them  to  be  taken.  Thus  promptly  this 
civilian  decided,  when  suddenly  called  to  take  the 
helm  in  a  hurricane.1 

Thus  Andrew  himself  speaks  of  those  thrilling 
days : — 

"I  may  testify  to  the  impressions  stamped  forever  on 
our  memories  and  our  hearts,  by  that  great  week  in 
April,  when  Massachusetts  rose  up  at  the  sound  of  the 
cannonade  of  Sumter,  and  her  Militia  Brigade,  springing 
to  their  arms,  appeared  on  Boston  Common.  It  re 
deemed  the  meanness  and  the  weariness  of  many  a  pro- 

1  Memorial  Address  at  Hingham,  October  8,  1875,  by  Horace 
Binney  Sargent- 


36  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

saic  life.  It  was  the  revelation  of  a  profound  sentiment, 
of  manly  faith,  of  glorious  fidelity,  and  of  a  love  stronger 
than  death.  Those  were  days  of  which  none  other  in 
the  history  of  the  war  became  the  parallel.  And  when, 
on  the  evening  of  the  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Lex 
ington,  there  came  the  news  along  the  wires  that  the 
Sixth  Regiment  had  been  cutting  its  way  through  the 
streets  of  Baltimore,  whose  pavements  were  reddened 
with  the  blood  of  Middlesex,  it  seemed  as  if  there  de 
scended  into  our  hearts  a  mysterious  strength,  and  into 

our  minds  a  supernal   illumination Never  after 

did  any  news  so  lift  us  above  ourselves,  so  transform  our 

earthly  weakness  into  heavenly  might The  great 

and  necessary  struggle  was  begun,  without  which  we 
were  a  disgraced,  a  doomed,  a  ruined  people.  We  had 
reached  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and  we  had  not  hesi 
tated  to  choose  the  right  one." 

On  the  afternoon  of  that  19th  of  April,  1861, 
I  passed  into  the  Governor's  office  in  the  State 
House,  through  the  ante-room,  crowded  with  the 
fathers,  mothers,  and  wives  of  the  soldiers  just  at 
tacked  in  Baltimore.  Telegrams  were  arriving, 
officers  coming  and  going,  messengers  from  the 
adjutant-general's  office,  from  the  quartermaster's 
office,  judges,  senators,  the  most  influential  men 
in  the  city  ;  and  poor  women  came  to  ask  if  their 
sons  had  been  heard  from.  In  the  midst  of  this 
commotion,  the  Governor  sat  at  his  table,  calm  in 
the  midst  of  all,  attending  to  each  piece  of  busi 
ness  in  order,  hearing  and  answering  all  inquiries, 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  37 

considering  and  promptly  deciding  every  difficult 
point,  and  writing  the  famous  telegram  which 
seemed  to  show,  for  the  first  time,  that  tender 
ness  might  be  an  element  in  war.  At  all  events, 
I  cannot  but  think  that  this  telegram  had  much  to 
do  with  the  tenderness  afterward  manifested.  It 
encouraged  women  to  go  as  nurses  to  the  hospitals, 
and  to  be  received  in  them  ;  it  encouraged  the  san 
itary  commission  in  its  work,  and  gave  a  tone  of 
humanity  to  what  was  to  follow.  And  how  many 
days  afterward  do  I  recall  during  the  war,  when, 
going  to  his  room  in  the  State  House  on  some  spe 
cial  business,  I  found  him  always  the  same,  — 
calm,  tranquil,  doing  such  an  enormous  amount  of 
work,  like  Goethe's  star,  "  Without  haste  and  with 
out  rest."  He  worked  like  the  great  engine  in  the 
heart  of  the  steam-ship.  The  vessel  may  be  roll 
ing  and  pitching  amid  frightful  seas,  her  decks 
swept  by  successive  waves,  but  there,  in  the  centre 
of  the  ship,  the  engine  works  steadily  on,  with  tran 
quil  accuracy,  but  enormous  power.  Such  force, 
so  steadily  exercised,  was  his.  There  was  no  jar, 
no  strain,  no  hurry,  no  repose  ;  but  constant  equable 
motion,  on  and  on,  through  all  those  weary  years, 
to  their  triumphal  end. 

One  secret  of  this  great  working-power  was  the 
natural  equanimity  of  his  temper.  He  was  always 
cheerful,  sunny,  full  of  anecdotes  and  pleasant 
mirth,  with  infinite  good  nature,  with  none  of  the 
corrosive  element  of  irritable  self-love.  If  we  keep 


38  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

to  our  image  of  an  engine,  this  oil  of  kindness  was 
the  lubricating  medium  which  prevented  all  waste 
of  power  by  friction.  Of  this  "  golden  temper  of 
Governor  Andrew,"  Mr.  Nason  says,  "  it  was  the 
sunshine  God  sent  into  his  happy  heart  to  bear 
him  through  the  labors  of  his  life." 

Another  cause  of  his  executive  force  was  that, 
both  by  conviction,  instinct,  and  habit,  he  never 
stopped  to  lament  over  the  past,  or  to  anticipate 
with  anxiety  the  future.  I  recall  one  illustration 
of  this  in  1854,  on  the  occasion  of  the  rendition  to 
slavery  of  Anthony  Burns,  from  Boston.  The  ex 
citement  in  the  city  was  intense.  The  streets, 
from  the  Court  House  down  Court  and  State 
streets,  and  on  to  the  ship,  were  densely  packed 
with  a  crowd,  not  noisy,  but  whose  faces  gathered 
blackness  as  the  fatal  procession  drew  near.  Atten 
tive  observers  were  very  apprehensive  of  a  bloody 
collision  between  the  soldiers  and  the  people.  A 
posse  of  many  hundred  constables  and  policemen, 
the  marines  from  Charlestown,  cavalry,  infantry, 
and  a  light  battery  with  shotted  guns,  were  thought 
necessary  to  get  this  one  poor  fugitive  through 
the  streets.  The  escort  was  hissed,  the  soldiers 
greeted  with  shouts  of  " kidnappers!  kidnappers  !  " 
and  various  emblems  were  hung  from  the  win 
dows.  John  Andrew's  office  at  the  corner  of 
Court  and  Washington  streets  was  the  centre  of  the 
excitement,  and  filled  with  people.  Some  of  his 
friends  were  draping  it  in  front  with  black  cloth. 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  39 

On  the  opposite  corner  swung  a  coffin,  under  which 
the  escort  must  pass.  But  Andrew  sat  quietly 
at  his  desk,  writing,  the  only  calm  man  in  the 
room.  He  had  done  all  he  could  to  prevent  the 
rendition  before,  —  now,  he  could  do  no  more,  and 
sat  at  his  desk  as  serene  as  if  no  such  events  were 
taking  place  around  him.  His  perfect  good  sense 
revolted  from  the  folly  of  wasting  strength  and 
time  in  mourning  or  raging  about  the  inevitable. 

In  like  manner  he  had  an  instinctive  aversion  to 
worry  or  anxiety  about  evils  which  might  never 
arrive.  I  recollect  once  being  present  with  him 
at  the  graduating  exercises  of  a  State  Normal 
School.  When  called  upon,  as  Governor  of  the 
State,  to  address  the  class,  he  referred  to  the  fre 
quent  recurrence  in  their  essays  and  addresses  of  a 
tone  of  anxiety  in  regard  to  their  great  coining  re 
sponsibility  as  teachers.  "  That  is  all  wrong,"  said 
he.  "  You  have  no  occasion  to  be  anxious  at  all. 
You  have  been  well  prepared  here,  and  if  you  try 
to  do  your  best,  trusting  in  God,  your  responsibil 
ities  will  be  not  a  bit  gre*ater  than  you  can  meet. 
You  are  too  solemn  about  it.  Look  forward  cheer 
fully  to  your  work.  You  will  find  it,  I  have  no 
doubt,  a  very  happy  one.  Do  not  trouble  your 
selves  beforehand  about  any  difficulties,  but  wait 
till  they  come.  Remember  what  Abraham  Lin 
coln  said  when  he  was  asked  what  he  would  do,  if 
such  or  such  perils  intervened  :  4 1  never  cross  a 
river  till  I  come  to  it.'  "  As  the  Governor  thus 


40  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

spoke,  his  own  face  beaming  with  cheer  and  good 
nature,  I  observed  the  light  come  back  to  the  faces 
of  the  pupils,  and  have  no  doubt  they  long  remem 
bered  this  kind  and  judicious  advice  which  Gover 
nor  Andrew  always  followed  himself,  thus  avoiding 
much  unnecessary  trouble. 

Another  secret  of  his  executive  ability  was  the 
rare  faculty  he  possessed  of  applying  his  mind  at 
once  to  each  question  as  it  arose,  and  deciding  it 
on  the  spot.  He  did  not  say,  "  I  will  think  about 
it,  and  let  you  know  to-morrow."  He  knew  that 
tomorrow  would  have  to  take  thought  for  the 
things  of  itself,  and  that  thinking  at  once  is  the 
easiest  way.  Thus  have  I  seen  him  in  the  State 
House,  when  question  after  question  was  submitted 
to  him,  looking  at  each  man  in  turn,  making  some 
shrewd  inquiry,  giving  his  decision,  and  turning 
to  the  next  subject.  Moreover,  and  especially, 
his  eye  was  single,  and  that  filled  his  whole  body 
full  of  light.  There  was  no  prejudice  to  blind,  no 
vanity  to  mislead,  no  private  aims  to  be  gratified, 
110  passions  to  weaken  and  betray.  He  took  no 
time  in  asking,  before  he  made  his  decision,  what 
would  be  its  effect  on  his  own  popularity  or  his 
own  fortunes.  There  never  was  a  man  who  had 
less  of  the  politician's  habit  of  watching  public 
opinion  and  its  tendencies  in  order  to  see  if  it  will 
be  profitable  to  be  just.  Here  again  I  recollect  a 
story  he  was  fond  of  telling  of  Andrew  Jackson, 
who  was  asked  whether  some  course  he  proposed 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  41 

would  be  thought  Democratic  by  his  Democratic 
supporters.  "  What  do  I  care  what  they  think  ?  " 
shouted  the  old  general.  "  If  I  want  to  know 
what  is  Democratic,  I  do  not  ask  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry.  I  ask  old  Andrew  Jackson."  "He  (slap 
ping  his  breast),  he  is  a  Democrat,  and  if  he 
thinks  it  Democratic,  that  is  enough." l 

1  No  doubt  his  natural  humor  and  love  of  merriment  also  sup 
ported  him  amid  his  labors,  as  these  same  qualities  upheld  Lin 
coln.  I  quote  the  following  from  Gen.  H.  B.  Sargent's  address 
at  Hingham  :  — 

"  And  yet  through  all  the  grief  and  shame  that  attended  our 
first  shock  of  arms,  his  high-hearted  hope  and  cheerful  ways  in 
spired  us  all.  His  voice  and  laughter  were  a  defiant  cheer  to  fate. 

"  His  sense  of  fun  crops  out  even  in  grave  discussions.  One 
smiles  for  instance  in  reading  a  long  law  argument  in  a  veto  mes 
sage  to  the  Senate,  'in  relation  to  Jurors,'  at  his  suggestion  that 
the  returned  bill  might  operate  to  exclude  from  that  bulwark  of 
liberty,  the  jury  —  as  persons  unfit  to  serve  on  juries  '  by  reason 
of  being  engaged  in  pursuits  made  criminal  by  statute  '  —  all  who 
fish  '  out  of  season  '  or  sell  '  nuts  except  by  dry  measure.' 

"  Even  on  this  occasion  the  memory  of  his  witty  words,  laugh 
ter  that  was  almost  articulate  with  mirth,  and  his  cheery  shout  of 
merriment  at  some  pronounced  absurdity,  reminds  me  how  much 
his  sunshine  lightened  labor  in  these  early  days  of  the  rebellion  ; 
when  matters  were  so  hurried  that  the  aides  would  follow  the 
soldiers  of  moving  regiments  down  the  steps,  to  tighten  some 
buckle  of  belt  or  knapsack,  or  to  thrust  percussion  caps  into  the 
pocket !  Tn  the  offices,  crammed  to  suffocation  with  every  ap 
plicant  and  contrast  —  the  charitable  and  the  selfish,  the  sublime 
and  the  grotesque  —  there  Avas  food  for  mirth  as  well  as  sadness. 
There  were  sutlers  seeking  an  outfit,  and  saints  with  bandages 
and  lint ;  English  officers  tendering  their  service,  and  our  regulars 
giving  good  advice;  inventors  of  new-fangled  guns,  pistols,  and 
sabres,  only  dangerous  to  their  possessor,  and  which  the  inventors 
threatened  to  sell  to  the  Confederacy  if  we  did  not  buy  them  ;  gen- 


42  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

One  example  of  this  moral  independence  I  may 
mention.  At  the  time  that  the  Unitarians  were 
preparing  to  have  a  national  convention  in  the  city 
of  New  York,  some  one  said  to  me,  "  Will  Gover 
nor  Andrew  consent  to  preside  over  that  conven 
tion  ?  "  "I  do  not  know,"  said  I,  "  whether  he 
will  or  not,  but  I  will  ask  him.''  I  did  so.  He 
inquired  where  and  when  it  was  to  be  held,  and 
told  me  to  say  that  he  would  preside.  I  thought 
that  many  public  men  if  they  had  been  asked  in 
that  way  to  preside  over  a  meeting  of  a  religious 
body,  unpopular  throughout  the  country,  not  very 
influential  compared  with  the  great  religious  bod 
ies  of  the  land,  would  have  waited  and  considered 
what  the  effect  upon  their  personal  popularity 
would  be.  He  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment.  It 
never  entered  his  mind  to  think  of  the  effect  of 
such  an  action  on  his  position.  He  simply  consid 
ered  whether  he  had  time  to  go  and  preside,  and 
when  he  saw  that  he  had,  he  said  at  once  that  he 
would  go. 

tlemen  far  gone  into  consumption,  desiring  gentle  horseback  ex 
ercise  in  cavalry  ;  ladies  offering  to  sew  for  us  ;  needlewomen  beg 
ging  us  not  to  let  ladies  take  the  bread  from  soldiers'  wives  ;  phi 
lanthropists  telling  us  that  confederate  workmen,  in  our  arsenals, 
were  making  up  cartridges  with  black  sand  instead  of  powder ; 
saddlers  proposing  sole  leather  cuirasses  shaped  like  the  top  of  a 
coffin;  bands  of  sweet-eyed,  blushing  girls  bringing  in  nice  long 
night-gowns  '  for  the  poor  soldiers/  or  more  imaginative  under 
garments  '  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made/  redolent  of  patriot 
ism  and  innocence,  embroidered  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and 
too  big  for  Goliah." 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  43 

Another  instance  occurs  to  me  of  the  power 
which  Governor  Andrew  possessed  of  throwing  his 

JL  O 

mind  into  any  subject,  and  of  thinking  it  through. 
In  the  midst  of  the  war,  being  at  church  one  Sun 
day  morning,  I  asked  him  a  question  after  the  ser 
vice  which  led  him  to  speak  of  Harvard  Univer 
sity.  In  answering  the  question,  he  went  on  to 
consider  the  whole  subject  of  university  education, 
and  as  we  walked  he  developed  a  complete  theory 
of  the  ends  to  be  kept  in  view  and  the  methods  to 
be  adopted  by  the  college  government.  "  If  I 
were  appointed  president  of  the  college,"  said  he, 
"  this  is  what  I  would  do,"  —  and  then,  for  nearly 
an  hour,  as  we  walked  round  Boston  Common,  he 
explained  his  system  and  the  way  in  which  he 
would  try  to  carry  it  out.  Those  who  met  us  and 
saw  his  earnestness  of  manner  no  doubt  thought 
that  he  was  explaining  some  important  matter 
connected  with  the  war.  This  power  of  concen 
trating  his  mind  upon  any  theme  and  holding  him 
self  to  it,  constituted  no  small  part  of  his  force, 
and  made  him  capable  of  filling  almost  any  posi 
tion  with  success. 

Impatient  of  pedantry,  disliking  all  formalism, 
an  intense  realist,  his  thoroughly  practical  mind 
always  kept  in  view  the  object.  The  majority 
seem  soon  to  forget  what  they  are  working  for. 
His  thought  never  let  go  the  object  to  be  attained, 
while  examining  all  the  means  by  which  to  attain 
it.  The  famous  case  of  the  "  overcoats  "  illustrates 


44  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

this.  Projecting  his  judgment  forward,  he  saw 
that  when  the  war  broke  out  it  would  be  sudden, 
that  men  would  be  wanted  immediately,  that  it 
might  be  cold  weather,  that  their  health  and  con 
sequent  efficiency  would  depend  on  their  being 
warmly  clothed,  that  the  overcoats  would  be  the 
garment  they  would  not  be  likely  to  have,  and 
which  would  keep  them  warm.  So  he  ordered  the 
two  thousand  overcoats,  amid  the  derision  of  that 
class  of  people  who  laugh  at  the  propositions  of 
the  man  who  sees  further  than  themselves,  and 
then,  when  his  foresight  is  justified,  forget  imme 
diately  that  they  ever  laughed  at  all. 

Every  one  remembers  the  energy  with  which  he 
pursued  the  plan  of  employing  colored  troops,  till 
at  last  he  obtained  permission  from  the  War  De 
partment  to  do  so.  In  a  personal  interview  with 
Mr.  Stanton,  he  received  written  authority  to  raise 
volunteer  companies  of  artillery  for  duty  in  Mas 
sachusetts  and  elsewhere,  and  such  companies  of 
volunteer  infantry  as  he  might  find  convenient. 
With  his  own  hand,  Governor  Andrew  added, 
"  and  may  include  persons  of  African  descent  or 
ganized  into  separate  corps."  This  was  on  Jan 
uary  26,  1863,  and  was  a  great  step  forward  to 
ward  crushing  the  rebellion.  He  immediately 
returned  to  Massachusetts,  and  raised  the  Fifty- 
fourth  Regiment  of  Massachusetts  Infantry,  the 
first  colored  men  admitted  as  soldiers  to  the  ser 
vice  and  defense  of  the  Union.  A  second  colored 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  45 

regiment,  the  Fifty-fifth,  soon  followed.  But, 
though  consenting  to  receive  their  services,  the 
government  refused  to  these  men  a  soldier's  pay, 
and  offered  them  a  smaller  sum,  such  as  was  paid 
to  stevedores  and  cooks.  This  they  unanimously 
refused  to  receive,  and  so  went  without  pay  f OL 
ID  ore  than  a  year.  The  Governor  summoned  the 
Massachusetts  Legislature  in  extra  session,  and 
procured  an  act  to  be  passed  to  pay  them  the  full 
amount  from  the  State  treasury,  and  sent  paymas 
ters  with  the  sum  to  South  Carolina,  where  the 
troops  had  gone.  But  these  brave  fellows  declined 
to  take  it,  saying,  "  We  will  wait  till  the  United 
States  chooses  to  pay  us  our  just  dues."  The  Gov 
ernor,  though  a  sweet-tempered  man,  was  capable 
of  a  righteous  indignation,  and  on  this  occasion  it 
burst  all  limits.  He  appealed  to  the  War  Depart 
ment,  to  the  Attorney-general,  and  at  last  to  the 
President ;  quoting  in  his  letter  to  the  latter  the 
opinion  of  the  Attorney-general,  and  then  demand 
ing  that  they  should  be  paid,  showing  what  had 
been  their  services  at  Fort  Wagner  and  elsewhere, 
and  what  were  the  sufferings  of  themselves  and 
their  families.  But  the  President  still  hesitated  ; 
and  then  the  Governor  turned  to  Congress,  and 
addressed  a  letter  to  Thaddeus  Stevens,  June  4, 
1864,  in  which  he  used  these  remarkable  words. 
"  For  one,  I  will  never  give  up  my  demand  for 
right  and  justice  to  the  soldiers.  I  will  pursue  it 
before  every  tribunal.  I  will  present  it  in  every 


46  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

forum  where  any  power  resides  to  assert  their 
rights  and  avenge  their  wrongs.  I  will  neither 
forget  nor  forgive,  nor  intermit  my  effort,  though 
I  should  stand  unsupported  and  alone  ;  nor,  though 
years  should  pass  before  the  controversy  is  ended. 
And  if  I  should  leave  the  world  with  this  work 
undone,  and  there  should  be  any  hearing  for  such 
as  I,  elsewhere  in  the  universe,  I  will  carry  the 
appeal  before  the  tribunal  of  Infinite  Justice." 
Under  the  pressure  of  threatened  legislation,  the 
War  Department  at  last  gave  way,  and  the  colored 
men  were  made  equal  with  the  whites.1 

His  influence  over  men  was  great.  He  could 
convince,  persuade,  and  bring  to  his  views  persons 
of  the  most  opposite  characters,  each  of  them  won 
dering  how  he  was  able  to  do  so  much  with  the 
other.  He  once  told  me  that  he  believed  he  was 
personally  acquainted  with  almost  or  quite  every 
man  of  any  prominence  in  the  State. 

1  Happening  to  be  in  the  Governor's  office  when  he  was  writing 
this  letter,  he  read  it  to  me.  Not  long  after,  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  preaching  in  the  hall  of  the  House  of  Representatives  at  Wash 
ington,  and  describing  the  magnanimity  of  those  colored  soldiers 
in  refusing  the  money  till  they  could  have  justice  with  it,  though 
they  and  their  families  were  suffering  for  need  of  it.  Then  I 
added,  "  If  this  action  had  been  done  by  Greeks  or  Romans,  it 
would  have  been  put  in  our  school  books,  and  we  should  be 
taught  to  admire  its  heroism.  But  because  it  has  been  done  by 
colored  people  we  do  not  think  much  of  it.  For  myself  I  had 
rather  be  one  of  those  colored  soldiers,  continuing  to  serve  the 
country,  but  refusing  his  pay  till  he  could  have  justice,  than  a 
member  of  Congress,  sitting  in  his  comfortable  chair  and  taking 
pay  regularly,  and  yet  not  having  the  courage  to  pass  a  law  to 
pay  those  colored  men  their  due." 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  47 

When  he  was  chosen  Governor  he  was  much 
disliked,  on  account  of  his  supposed  ultraism,  his 
peace  principles,  his  anti-slavery  ideas,  his  plain, 
sturdy  democracy  of  thought  and  manner.  But 
in  making  his  appointments  he  acted  independ 
ently  of  cliques  and  parties,  laid  aside  his  own 
preferences,  and  sedulously  sought  out  the  best 
man,  whoever  he  was.  His  opponents  soon  per 
ceived  that  he  was  just  as  likely  to  appoint  their 
sons  to  offices  in  the  regiments  as  others,  —  and 
the  sons,  going  to  the  war,  were  sure  to  bring  their 
parents  into  a  cordial  support  of  the  government. 
"  Two  years  after  the  war  began,"  says  Colonel 
Browne,  "  he  was  not  aware  in  regard  to  half  the 
colonels  of  the  Massachusetts  troops,  what  had 
been  their  political  connections,  and  was  quite  sur 
prised  when  he  was  told  one  day  that,  out  of  the 
first  fifteen  colonels  of  three  years'  volunteers  whom 
he  had  commissioned,  only  one  third  at  the  ut 
most  had  voted  for  Mr.  Lincoln  for  President, 
while  more  than  one  third  had  voted  for  Mr. 
Breckinridge." 

Wherever  he  went,  the  walls  between  him  and 
those  he  met  melted  away.  His  simplicity,  heart 
iness,  steadfast,  open  purposes,  clear,  frank  state 
ments,  kindly  spirit,  made  men  easy  in  his  society. 
They  forgot  their  reserves  and  their  prejudices. 
Whenever  he  went  to  Washington,  during  the 
war,  he  came  at  once  into  intimate  relations  with 
Lincoln,  Stanton,  Sumner,  Chase,  the  diplomats, 


48  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

the  generals,  the  politicians  of  all  orders,  and  the 
business  men  who  thronged  the  Capital.  Mr. 
Stanton,  so  hard  and  repellant  to  others,  never 
was  able  to  resist  Governor  Andrew.  "  Our  rep 
resentatives  in  Congress  ask  me  to  persuade  Stau- 
ton  to  this  and  that  ;  I  don't  understand  it.  Why 
are  they  so  afraid  of  him  ?  He  needs  them  more 
than  they  need  him.  He  always  does  what  I  want, 
and  yet  he  does  not  need  me."  But  the  moral 
atmosphere  of  Washington  was  not  agreeable  to 
him. 

I  once  went  to  Washington  with  him,  at  his 
request,  in  company  with  one  or  two  other  of  his 
intimate  friends.  It  was  at  the  end  of  1861.  We 
went  together  to  Brigade  reviews  of  the  troops 
then  in  and  around  Washington,  and  to  a  Divis 
ion  review  in  Virginia,  where  we  saw  a  skirmish 
from  the  top  of  a  hill.  We  rode  home  by  night 
through  the  Virginia  woods,  the  Wisconsin  and 
Pennsylvania  regiments  marching  by  our  side,  and 
singing 

"  John  Brown's  body  is  mouldering  in  the  grave, 
His  soul  is  marching  on," 

while  the  moonlight  glittered  on  their  bayonets, 
and  soft  rivulets  of  fire  ran  down  the  dried  up  beds 
of  the  streams  on  the  opposite  hill-side.  These  in 
cidents  excited  all  the  romance  of  his  nature. 

I  recall  another  scene  at  Washington  :  Gov 
ernor  Andrew  asked  me  to  go  with  him  to  see  Pres- 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  49 

ident  Lincoln.  It  was  late  at  night,  after  ten 
o'clock ;  but  when  we  reached  the  White  House 
the  porter  said  that  the  President  had  gone  out 
with  Governor  Seward.  Recognizing  Governor 
Andrew,  he  added,  "  Walk  in  !  walk  in,  Gov 
ernor!"  We  went  in,  and  looked  into  the  rooms 
on  the  lower  floor.  All  were  lighted,  but  all  were 
vacant.  Then  Andrew  went  up  stairs,  and  I  fol 
lowed.  He  came  to  a  door  before  which  stood  two 
little  pairs  of  shoes.  "  This  is  the  childrens'  room," 
said  he ;  "  I  should  like  to  go  in  and  see  them 
asleep."  He  put  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  the 
door,  as  if  to  open  it ;  and  then,  changing  his  mind, 
turned  away.  But  the  impulse  was  such  a  natural 
one  !  In  the  palace  of  the  nation,  in  the  midst  of 
the  great  rebellion,  the  image  of  these  little  chil 
dren,  quietly  asleep,  took  his  heart  for  the  mo 
ment  from  all  the  great  affairs  of  the  country  and 
the  time. 

I  also  recall  with  much  pleasure  a  visit  with  the 
Governor  to  the  home  of  Francis  P.  Blair,  at  Sil 
ver  Springs,  Md.,  where  we  passed  the  evening 
in  very  agreeable  conversation  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Blair.  I  recollected  the  time  when  all  we  knew  of 
Mr.  Blair  was  that  he  belonged  to  what  was  con 
temptuously  called  the  kitchen-cabinet  of  General 
Jackson,  and  was  regarded  as  the  most  bitter  and 
unscrupulous  of  partisans.  It  seemed  strange, 
therefore,  to  find  in  him  a  kindly  old  gentleman, 
mild  and  calm  and  wise,  and  in  full  sympathy  with 

4 


50  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

Governor  Andrew  and  the  North.  Andrew  was 
emphatically  what  Washington  Allston  once  called 
himself,  u  a  wide  liker."  Of  Mr.  Blair  and  his 
wife  I  remember  his  saying :  "  When  they  sit  be 
side  their  wood  fire,  and  talk  anything  over,  and 
agree  about  it,  they  are  pretty  sure  to  be  right, 
and  there  is  no  use  saying  anything  more  on  the 
subject." 

Beside  Colonel  Browne's  volume,  to  which  I 
have  already  referred,  the  book  which  gives  the 
best  account  of  the  work  done  by  the  Governor 
during  the  war,  is  "  Massachusetts  in  the  Civil 
War,"  by  William  Schouler,  Adjutant-general  of 
the  Commonwealth.  The  energy,  activity,  fore 
sight,  courage,  which  marked  Andrew's  conduct 
during  these  years  will  fill  any  reader  of  that 
book  with  admiration.  General  Schouler,  who 
was  in  close  relations  with  him  all  the  time,  thus 
closes  his  volume  :  — 

"  How  well  he  served  his  country,  and  upheld  the 
dignity  and  honor  of  Massachusetts,  these  pages  may  in 
some  degree  illustrate.  But  we  know  how  much  greater 
he  was  than  our  inanimate  words  can  disclose. 

"  At  a  period  when  the  State  required  its  wisest  and 
best  men  at  the  head  of  the  government,  John  A.  An- 
drewr  was  selected.  We  believe  this  choice  to  have  been 
a  special  Providence  of  God.  He  had  walked  amid 
his  fellow  men  with  quiet  and  heartfelt  respect,  with  a 
conscience  untarnished,  a  heart  uncorrupted  by  love  of 
gain,  or  vulgar  contact  with  personal  strife  or  mean 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  51 

ambition.  He  has  passed  away ;  and,  with  him,  the 
greatest,  the  wisest,  the  noblest  of  Massachusetts  Gov 
ernors." 

Massachusetts,  a  State  containing  only  1,200,- 
000  inhabitants,  furnished  for  the  defense  of  the 
Union,  under  his  lead,  160,000 ;  or  more  than  one 
in  eight  of  all,  old  and  young,  men  and  women, 
sick  and  well. 

Who  can  forget  that  last  day  in  office,  when  he 
made  his  valedictory  address  to  the  Legislature ! 
He  invited  to  his  room  a  large  number  of  his 
friends.  It  was  a  remarkable  scene.  There  were 
gathered  in  the  council  chamber  men  and  women 
of  all  ages,  from  Levi  Lincoln,  then  eighty-four 
years  old,  to  little  girls ;  side  by  side  were  old 
abolitionists  and  old  conservatives,  orthodox  men 
and  radical  men,  men  and  women  of  all  ranks  and 
all  ages.  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  such  a  scene  as 
will  take  place  at  the  resurrection  of  the  just. 
And  it  was  on  this  occasion  that  after  going, in 
and  making  his  address,  he  stated  his  views  on 
reconstruction.  They  seemed  strange  to  many 
persons  at  that  time,  but  the  strangest  part  of  all 
was,  that  he  who  had  been  so  energetic  in  the 
prosecution  of  the  war  should  be  the  first  man  to 
come  forward  and  recommend  the  most  generous 
treatment  of  the  South.  It  was  on  this  occasion 
that  he  declared  that  there  could  be  no  real  recon 
struction  nor  lasting  peace,  until  the  South  was 


52  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

guided  by  its  natural  leaders,  the  intelligent  white 
Southerners.  He  had  devoted  the  whole  energy 
of  his  soul  to  causing  justice  to  be  done  to  the 
blacks,  now  he  was  willing  to  labor  that  equal 
justice  should  be  done  to  the  Southern  whites. 
He  did  not  desire  to  see  the  Southern  States  con 
trolled  either  by  selfish  carpet-baggers,  or  by  ig 
norant  freedmen.1 

After  he  had  retired  from  the  gubernatorial 
chair,  Andrew  Johnson,  who  was  then  acting  Pres 
ident  of  the  United  States,  sent  for  him,  and  said : 
"  I  want  to  give  you  some  office ;  I  would  like  to 

1  These  words,  from  this  valedictory,  have,  as  General  H.  B. 
Sargent  said,  "  a  glorious  ring :  "  "  Having  contributed  to  the 
army  and  the  navy,  including  regulars,  volunteers,  seamen,  and 
marines,  men  of  all  arms  and  officers  of  all  grades  and  of  the 
various  terms  of  service,  an  aggregate  of  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
nine  thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty-four  men ;  and  having  ex 
pended  for  the  war  out  of  her  own  treasury  twenty-seven  million 
seven  hundred  and  five  thousand  one  hundred  and  nine  dollars, 
beside  the  expenditure  of  her  cities  and  towns;  she  has  main 
tained,  by  the  unfailing  energy  and  economy  of  her  sons  and 
daughters,  her  industry  and  thrift,  even  in  the  waste  of  war. 
She  has  paid  promptly,  and  in  gold,  all  interest  on  her  bonds, 
including  the  old  and  the  new,  guarding  her  faith  and  honor  with 
every  public  creditor  while  still  fighting  the  public  enemy;  and 
now,  at  last,  in  retiring  from  her  service,  I  confess  the  satisfac 
tion  of  having  first  seen  all  of  her  regiments  and  batteries  (save 
two  battalions)  returned  and  mustered  out  of  the  army  ;  and  of 
leaving  her  treasury  provided  for  by  the  fortunate  and  profitable 
negotiation  of  all  the  permanent  loan  needed  or  foreseen,  with 
her  financial  credit  maintained  at  home  and  abroad,  her  public 
securities  unsurpassed,  if  even  equaled  in  value  in  the  money 
market  of  the  world,  by  those  of  any  State  or  of  the  nation." 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  53 

appoint  you  Collector  of  the  Port  of  Boston." 
"No,"  replied  Governor  Andrew,  "I  do  not  wish 
to  hold  any  office  in  connection  with  the  Govern 
ment.  I  shall  go  back  to  my  profession ;  but,  Mr. 
Johnson,  I  should  like  to  take  this  opportunity  to 
say  something  to  you.  The  man  who  ought  to 
receive  that  position  is  Hannibal  Hamlin,  and  I 
shall  be  most  happy  as  a  citizen  of  Massachusetts 
to  ask  you  to  offer  him  this  office ;  for  I  think  that 
when  the  Massachusetts  delegation  at  Chicago,  at 
the  second  Presidential  election  of  Mr.  Lincoln, 
substituted  your  name  as  Vice-president,  in  the 
place  of  that  of  Hannibal  Hamlin,  they  did  what 
they  ought  not  to  have  done.  Not  that  I  mean  to 
say,  Mr.  President,  that  Mr.  Hamlin  would  make 
a  better  Vice-president  than  you,  but  because  I 
think  Massachusetts  should  have  stood  by  Mr. 
Hamlin." 

He  was  equally  broad  in  his  religious  views, 
and  equally  free  from  all  religious  or  sectarian 
prejudices.  He  was  the  first  Governor  of  Mas 
sachusetts  who  ever  went  to  the  Catholic  College 
at  Worcester,  with  his  aids,  to  attend  commence 
ment  exercises  there.  He  said :  "  I  wish  these 
young  men  to  understand  that  we  look  upon  them 
as  our  fellow-citizens,  and  that  they  will  have  to 
consider  themselves  citizens  of  Massachusetts." 

Though  of  Puritan  origin,  being  descended  on 
his  mother's  side  from  Francis  Higginson,  pastor 
of  the  first  church  in  the  colony,  and  though  a 


54  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

Unitarian  in  belief,  he  urged  the  appointment  of 
the  National  Fast  to  be  put  on  Good  Friday,  so 
as  to  unite  all  other  denominations  with  the  Epis 
copalians  and  Eoman  Catholics  in  keeping  the 
same  day.  Two  of  his  most  intimate  friends  were 
Father  Fenotti,  a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  and  Fa 
ther  Taylor,  the  Methodist.  Father  Taylor  de 
clined  speaking  at  the  funeral,  saying,  "  I  cannot 
trust  myself,  I  can  only  cry." 

Worn  out,  no  doubt,  by  the  incessant  labors  and 
anxieties  of  the  war,  his  iron  constitution  gave 
way,  and  he  died  suddenly,  by  a  stroke  of  apo 
plexy,  October  30,  1867.  I  received  a  telegram 
announcing  his  death,  while  attending  a  conven 
tion  in  Vermont.  When  the  news  was  known  in 
this  body,  one  gentleman  rose  and  said,  "  Tell  the 
people  of  Massachusetts  tliere  is  not  an  intelligent 
man,  woman,  or  child  in  Vermont  who  will  not 
mourn  for  this  death  as  for  a  personal  bereave 
ment."  On  my  arrival  in  Boston,  I  found  the 
whole  city  moved  as  by  a  public  calamity.  And 
surely  it  was  such.  This  man,  less  than  fifty  years 
old,  seemed  fitted  for  a  long  and  great  career.  He 
was  wanted  for  all  important  occasions  which 
might  arise ;  the  one  man  fitted  for  any  and  every 
crisis  and  public  need.  The  most  valuable  man 
in  the  community,  as  we  count  value,  was  taken 
from  us  —  the  man  who  could  help  us  through 
any  coming  crisis.  And  then  the  loss  to  his 
friends,  who  were  so  many  in  all  ranks  of  society, 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  55 

was  irreparable.  No  wonder  that  a  great  sadness 
fell  over  the  community. 

The  funeral  took  place  November  2d,  on  the 
Feast  of  All  Souls  —  a  fitting  time,  as  it  seemed 
to  many,  to  lay  in  the  bosom  of  earth  the  remains 
of  one  to  whom  all  souls  were  dear,  and  who  called 
no  man  common  or  unclean.  The  shops  were 
generally  closed,  and  vast  numbers  stood  along 
the  route  of  the  procession  with  serious  faces. 
But  perhaps  the  most  touching  sight  of  all  were 
the  poor  colored  women  who  ran  by  the  side  of 
the  coffin  the  whole  five  miles  from  Boston  to 
Mount  Auburn,  to  take  one  last  look  at  the  face 
of  their  friend. 

From  the  address  delivered  at  his  funeral,  I 
select  the  following  passages,  which  I  think  no 
one,  who  knew  the  man',  will  consider  exagger 
ated  :  — 

"  Why  has  this  great  company  assembled  here  to-day  ? 
Why  have  these  magistrates,  judges,  senators,  men  of 
business,  men  of  literature,  left  their  legislation,  their 
work,  their  study,  and  come  around  this  coffin?  Why 
does  the  energy  of  Boston  give  this  hour  to  thought  and 
tears  ?  Why,  to-day,  out  of  Boston,  out  of  Massachusetts, 
out  of  New  England,  on  the  prairies  of  Illinois  and  the 
Sea  Islands  of  Georgia,  does  grief  rest  on  the  souls  of 
men  and  women,  thinking  of  him  who  lies  here  before 
us  ?  A  soldier  of  the  West  in  Louisiana  said  to  a  friend  of 
mine,  '  I  know  the  whole  name  of  only  one  Governor 
—  that  is  John  A.  Andrew.'  It  is  not  merely  because 


56  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

he  held  the  high  office  of  Chief  Magistrate.  Others  less 
widely  known  have  done  this.  It  was  not  merely  be 
cause  of  his  great  abilities.  Others,  perhaps,  with  more 
shining  qualities  than  his,  have  passed  away  with  no 
such  sense  of  loss  as  this.  It  is  not  even  because  of  the 
work  he  did  for  the  Union  in  its  hour  of  danger,  or  his 
services,  eminent  as  they  were,  during  the  bitter  war. 
These  are  not  yet  fully  understood,  not  wholly  known, 
even  by  ourselves.  We  come  here  to-day,  not  because 
of  his  office,  for  he  was  a  private  citizen ;  not  because 
of  his  genius,  for  it  was  plain,  practical,  simple ;  not  be 
cause  of  any  long  and  large  experience,  for  ten  years 
ago  he  was  so  little  known  that  his  name  was  not  in  the 
American  Cyclopaedia,  and  he  had  not  yet  held  his  first 
office,  that  of  member  of  the  lower  House  of  the  Mas 
sachusetts  Legislature.  But  to-day,  JOHN  ALBION  AN 
DREW  is  mourned  as  no  other  man  in  the  Union  would 
be  lamented,  because  of  his  character;  because  every 
body  fully  trusted  him ;  because  he  was  the  one  man  in 
the  Union  whom  every  one  knew  to  be  perfectly  relia 
ble,  unselfish,  transparent  as  a  piece  of  crystal ;  to  be 
trusted  in  any  great  danger  or  emergency  with  absolute 
confidence ;  the  one  man  whom  it  seems  as  if  we  could  not 
spare,  because  the  one  man  to  whom  this  whole  distracted, 
divided,  betrayed  nation  could  look  in  any  coming  hour 
of  danger  as  a  leader  in  whom  all  might  unite,  North 
and  South,  East  and  West,  Radicals  and  Conservatives. 
We  mourn  to-day  because,  he  being  gone,  the  Union 
is  not  so  much  the  Union  as  it  was  —  that  mediatorial 
character  having  been  taken  away. 

"  What  a  lesson  is  this  of  the  power  of  character  !     It 
has  carried  him  up,  during  ten  short  years,  from   ob- 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  57 

scurity  to  eminence.  Because  God  gave  him  originally 
the  precious  gift  of  such  a  sweet  evenness  of  temper, 
such  equality  of  soul,  such  joy  in  simple  things,  such 
modesty  and  manliness  combined ;  because  he  began  life 
with  such  a  sincere  purpose  of  right-doing;  because  his 
aim  was  not  to  exalt  himself,  to  win  fortune,  to  get  fame, 
to  hold  power ;  but  to  do  work  for  God  and  man ;  be 
cause,  all  these  years  when  few  knew  much  about  him, 
he  was  faithful  to  daily  duty;  faithful  to  unpopular 
truth ;  loyal  to  freedom,  justice,  humanity,  when  the 
crowd  went  the  other  way ;  because  he  pursued  without 
haste  or  rest  the  way  upward  into  truth  and  right ; 
therefore  did  Providence  at  last  thus  exalt  him  to  a 
great  opportunity,  such  as  no  man  in  Massachusetts  ever 
had  before,  and  give  him  the  strength  to  fulfill  a  work  to 
be  memorable  through  all  time. 

"  His  eye  was  single,  and  therefore  his  whole  body 
was  full  of  light.  No  mote  of  egotism,  vanity,  or  self 
ishness  blinded  his  eye  ;  no  prejudice,  envy,  or  hatred 
clouded  that  clear  vision.  He  had  no  enemies ;  he 
could  not  have  any.  People  might  dislike  him,  be 
angry  with  him  for  neglecting  this  or  doing  that  which 
interfered  with  their  pet  projects  or  special  interest; 
but  abuse  him  as  they  might,  misrepresent  him  as  they 
did,  slander  him  for  this  or  that,  they  never  could  make 
him  angry  with  them.  That  sweet  milk  of  human  kind 
ness  no  mortal  could  ever  sour.  He  could  not  be  partial 
or  prejudiced  or  unjust :  in  such  stable  equilibrium  was 
his  mind  maintained  by  the  steadfast  gravitation  of  his 
heart  to  justice  and  honesty. 

"  In  him  was  illustrated  also  the  original  and  deeper 
sense  of  the  word  integrity.  His  integrity  was  the  com- 


58  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

plete  balance  of  soul,  making  him  go  wholly  into  all  that 
he  did,  without  reserves,  limitations,  or  qualifications  — 
'the  inner  substance  and  the  outer  face'  —  all  kept  in 
exact  harmony.  In  that  limpid  soul  all  was  visible,  as 
in  some  of  the  bays  of  Lake  Huron  you  can  see  clear  to 
the  bottom,  sixty  feet  down,  and  count  every  agate  or 
carnelian  on  the  sand. 

"  But  it  would  be  a  great  wrong  to  truth  and  Chris 
tianity  to  omit  here,  in  the  presence  of  death  and  eternity, 
and  in  these  consecrated  walls,  the  fact  that  John  A. 
Andrew's  character  was  rooted  deep  in  religion.  As 
his  pastor  and  friend  for  more  than  twenty-five  years, 
having  met  him  all  this  time  in  our  weekly  conference 
meetings  when  his  face  would  irradiate  peace,  while  he 
opened  to  us  the  Scriptures,  expounded  Paul,  or  re 
vealed  to  the  little  group  of  friends  the  deeper  experi 
ences  of  his  life,  I  ought  to  say  that  I  never  knew  a 
more  pure,  simple,  straight-forward  piety  than  his ;  faith 
without  narrowness,  piety  so  manly  and  cheerful.  His 
heart  took  in  all  sects  and  names.  He  was  at  home  with 
orthodox  and  heterodox,  with  Protestant  and  Catholic. 
To-day  there  sit  by  his  coffin  the  representatives  of  some 
of  this  largeness  of  heart ;  Father  Taylor,  who  has  been 
his  intimate  friend  for  so  long  a  time  ;  Mr.  Grimes, 
whose  church  he  so  often  visited,  and  who  could  tell  to 
day,  had  we  time  to  hear,  of  a  thousand  acts  of  good 
will  to  the  race  whom  he  has  served  so  well.  We  had 
hoped  to  have  here  Father  Fenotti,  a  dear  friend  of  his, 
but  he  has  been  detained ;  yet  let  me  read  a  few  lines 
of  his  note:  — 

" '  Trying  as  it  is  to  me,  and  exceedingly  painful  to 
refuse  the  request,  I  cannot  meet  you  and  the  other  rev- 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  59 

erend  gentlemen  to-morrow  morning,  to  perform  an  act 
of  love  and  religion  toward  the  sacred  remains  of  a 
friend  whom  I  have  loved  and  esteemed  with  an  in 
tensity  of  affection  not  surpassed  by  that  with  which  I 
love  my  brother.  Governor  Andrew  was  dear  to  me. 
His  coming  to  my  house  always  electrified  me.  During 
the  long  spells  of  sickness  to  which  I  am  subjected,  his 
visits,  which  were  very  frequent,  did  me  a  heart  day's 
good.  I  cannot  express  what  I  feel  about  it.' " 

As  daylight  faded  from  the  skies,  we  laid  him 
in  his  Mount  Auburn  resting-place.  Before  the 
coffin  was  closed  we  looked  on  his  face  again. 
Was  it  a  fancy,  or  did  I  really  see  a  new  expres 
sion  on  that  well-known  countenance  —  as  of  one 
going  calmly  but  modestly  forward  to  meet  a 
strange  and  wonderful  scene.  Awe  and  manly 
self-respect  were  blended  in  that  look.  Was  he 
then  going  up  to  meet  the  great  kindred  souls, 
who,  like  him,  had  fought  a  good  fight,  finished 
their  course,  and  kept  the  faith  ?  And,  amid  that 
noble  band,  did  he  also  recognize  a  yet  more  ma 
jestic  and  more  loving  friend,  saying,  "  Come, 
blessed  of  my  Father !  For  inasmuch  as  ye  did 
it  to  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  did  it  unto 
me !  "  I  might  have  been  deceived  in  the  out 
ward  phenomenon,  but  I  was  not  mistaken  in  re 
gard  to  the  inward  reality. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  after  our  me 
morial  services  for  our  brother  were  concluded, 
there  was  handed  to  me  this  message,  written  on 
a  scrap  of  paper  :  — 


60  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

"I  wish  you  could  know  what  Massachusetts  men,  who 
were  in  the  West  during  the  war,  thought  of  Governor 
Andrew.  I  never  saw  him.  Born  in  Massachusetts,  I 
was  in  Ohio  from  1858  to  1865.  I  took  his  proclama 
tions  into  my  pulpit,  and  read  them  to  the  people,  weep 
ing  the  while  with  grateful  pride,  that  my  native  State 
had  such  a  Governor  and  leader.  Massachusetts'  sons, 
away  from  home,  blessed  him,  and  felt  that  the  old  Bay 
State  would  be  kept  at  the  front,  under  God,  by  John 
A.  Andrew.  V." 

Two  years  later  the  remains  of  Governor  An 
drew  were  removed  to  the  cemetery  in  Hingham, 
the  town  in  which  he  had  spent  his  summers  for 
many  years,  and  the  early  home  of  his  wife.  On 
this  occasion  his  friends  and  neighbors  testified 
their  loving  memory  of  his  worth  by  a  general 
attendance  at  the  services.  I  will  select  a  few 
passages  from  the  address  on  that  occasion.  Over 
the  pulpit  of  the  church  was  his  portrait,  and 
these  immortal  words  from  his  address  at  a  Meth 
odist  Camp  Meeting  at  Martha's  Vineyard,  Au 
gust  16,1862:  "I  know  not  what  record  of  sin 
may  await  me  in  another  world,  but  this  I  do 
know:  I  was  never  mean  enough  to  despise  a 
man  because  he  was  poor,  because  he  was  igno 
rant,  or  because  he  was  black." 

"Two  years  to-day,  on  the  30th  of  October,  1867,  the 
State  of  Massachusetts,  the  nation,  arid  an  innumerable 
company  of  friends,  lost  the  helpful  presence  and  in 
spired  mind  of  John  Albion  Andrew. 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  61 

"  And  now,  after  these  two  years,  during  which  his 
thought  has  been  so  present  with  us  all,  you  have 
brought  back  his  earthly  remains  to  lay  them  in  the 
midst  of  your  homes.  And  in  this  you  have  done  well. 
It  seems  more  suitable  that  those  who  have  lived  to 
gether  should  sleep  side  by  side ;  pleasant  to  each  other 
in  life  and  in  death  not  divided. 

"  Who  does  not  feel  the  tender  charm  which  lingers 
around  these  silent  villages  where  '  the  rude  forefathers 
of  the  hamlet  sleep.'  It  is  well  that  our  friend  should 
rest  here,  for  here  he  loved  to  come  and  make  his  home 
when  he  could  escape  from  the  care  and  pressure  of 
business.  Here  he  sat  in  your  church,  taught  in  your 
Sunday-school,  visited  you  in  your  homes,  and  made 
himself  as  fully  a  Hingham  man  as  if  he  and  his  ances 
tors  had  always  lived  in  this  place.  And  among  all  the 
words  he  said  in  public,  I  know  nothing  which  carries 
with  it  so  much  of  the  charm  of  the  thought  and  heart 
of  John  A.  Andrew,  as  his  speech  here,  when  you 
came  to  congratulate  him  on  his  nomination  for  Gov 
ernor.  He  said  —  and  let  me  repeat  a  few  of  his  famil 
iar  words :  — 

" '  This  is  one  of  those  occasions  which  come  in  the 
course  of  all  our  lives,  when  no  poor  form  of  human 
speech  is  adequate  either  to  the  solemnity  or  to  the 
gladness  of  the  hour.  I  confess  to  you,  my  old  friends 
and  neighbors,  associates  and  kinspeople  of  Hingham, 
that  I  could  more  fitly  speak  by  tears  than  by  words 
to-night.  From  the  centre  of  my  being,  from  the  bot 
tom  of  my  heart,  for  this  unsought,  enthusiastic,  cordial 
welcome,  this  tender  of  your  generous  sympathy,  dear 
friends,  I  thank  you How  dear  to  my  heart  are 


62  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

these  fields,  these  hills,  these  spreading  trees,  this  ver 
dant  grass,  this  sounding  shore  of  yours,  where  now  for 
fourteen  years,  through  summer's  heat,  and  sometimes 
in  winter's  storm,  I  have  trod  your  streets,  and  rambled 
through  your  woods,  and  sauntered  by  your  beach,  and 
sat  by  your  firesides,  and  felt  the  warm  pressure  of  your 
hands,  sometimes  teaching  your  children  in  the  Sunday- 
school,  sometimes  speaking  to  you,  my  fellow-citizens, 

—  speaking  to  willing  ears Here  I  have  found 

most  truly  a  home,  free  from  the  cares  and  the  distrac 
tions,  from  the  turmoil,  doubts,  and  responsibilities  of  a 
laborious  and  anxious  profession.  Away  from  the  busier 
haunts  of  men  it  has  been  given  me  to  find  here  a  calm, 
sweet  retreat,  where,  in  the  society  of  private  friendship, 
I  have  been  able  to  refresh  the  wearied  spirit  and 
strengthen  the  worn  hands  of  toil.  Here,  dear  friends, 
I  have  found  the  home  of  my  heart.  It  was  into  one 
of  your  families  that  I  entered  and  joined  myself  in  holy 
bands  of  domestic  love  to  one  of  the  daughters  of  your 
town.  Here,  too,  first  have  I  known  a  parent's  joys  and 
a  parent's  sorrows.  So  whether  you  say  aye  or  no  here 
to  the  selection  which  may  cause  me  to  occupy  at  a 
future  day  the  chief  seat  in  the  Commonwealth,  I  now 
declare  with  all  the  earnestness  and  honesty  of  a  manly 
conviction,  that  John  A.  Andrew  is  forever  your  friend.' 
"And  now  you  receive  back,  people  of  Hingham,  all 
that  remains  of  your  friend,  and  will  guard  in  your  midst, 
forever,  these  relics  of  a  just  and  true  man.  They  will 
add  a  new  sacredness  to  the  sacred  spot  where  they  lie ; 
they  will  invest  this  ancient  town  with  another  inter 
est.  When  strangers  come  to  visit  the  place,  they  will 
ask  for  the  grave  of  Governor  Andrew ;  for 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  63 

"  *  Such  graves  as  his  are  pilgrim  shrines, 
Shrines  to  no  code  or  creed  confined, 
The  Delphian  vales,  the  Palestines, 
The  Meccas  of  the  mind.' 


"  When  you  and  your  children  visit  the  cemetery, 
your  feet  will  linger  near  that  place,  and  you  will  tell 
them  of  his  great  virtues,  and  they  will  grow  up  to  be 
better  men  and  women  for  the  reminder  of  these  ashes. 
This  silent  dust  will  speak,  to  tell  them  that,  better  than 
wealth,  power,  or  fame,  is  the  life  of  an  honest  man.  If 
our  nation  should  be  corrupted  by  prosperity,  if  its  high 
places  should  be  occupied  by  ignoble  men,  if  truth 
should  seem  about  to  desert  the  earth,  —  go  to  that  spot, 
men  of  Hingham,  and  be  assured,  by  the  memory  of  the 
good  and  great  Governor  of  Massachusetts,  that  virtue 
is  no  name  and  that  there  is  no  such  success  as  that  of 
purity  of  heart.  As  long  as  WASHINGTON  lies  in  Mount 
Vernon,  LINCOLN  in  Springfield,  and  ANDREW  in  Hing 
ham,  the  South,  the  West,  and  the  North,  will  each  have 
one  spot  consecrated  to  patriotism,  truth,  and  honor,  — 
a  spot  which  will  help  to  keep  the  land  to  its  high  tra 
ditions,  its  solemn  duties,  and  its  grand  future." 

In  October,  1875,  a  marble  statue  of  Governor 
Andrew  was  placed  in  the  Hingham  church-yard, 
on  which  occasion  a  very  interesting  address  was 
delivered  by  General  Horace  Binney  Sargent,  from 
which  we  quote  the  following  sentences.  General 
Sargent  was  appointed  by  the  Governor  his  senior 
aid,  and  so  continued  until  commissioned  Lieuten 
ant-colonel  of  the  First  Massachusetts  Cavalry. 


64  JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW. 

"  How  fitting  that  this  martyr  to  the  eternal  vigilance 
of  Liberty  should  rest  in  the  old  town  where  the  first 
signer  of  the  Declaration  of  American  Independence  — 
John  Hancock  —  opened  his  baby  eyes  !  When,  also,  I 
remember  that  during  the  war  of  the  rebellion,  with  its 
nights  of  vigil  and  its  days  burdened  with  all  the  civil 
duties  of  an  executive ;  seven  inaugural  and  valedictory 
addresses,  exhaustive  of  many  subjects,  before  the  State 
Legislature  of  five,  successive  years  ;  thirteen  veto  mes 
sages,  many  of  them  with  elaborate  law  arguments  ; 
ninety  special  messages  ;  the  patient  and  critical,  verbal 
as  well  as  legal,  examination  and  approval  of  one  thou 
sand  eight  hundred  and  fifteen  acts  and  resolves ;  innu 
merable  speeches  and  addresses  on  many  subjects  and 
in  many  places  ;  all  these  civil  duties  added  to  the  over 
whelming  cares  of  a  War  Minister,  as  well  as  ruler  — 
in  war  time  —  when  all  the  offices  of  the  State  House 
were  overflowing  with  infinite  inquiry,  complaint,  and 
diplomacy  that  were  involved  in  the  rapid  and  constant 
recruitment  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  men,  the 
State  House  being  like  a  camp  with  going  and  return 
ing  troops;  when  I  reflect  on  this,  and  remember  that, 
during  all  these  Titanic  years  of  toil  which  were  bearing 
Governor  Andrew  surely  to  his  early  grave,  he  still  con 
tinued  to  perform  his  duty  as  Secretary  of  Father  Tay 
lor's  little  Bethel  for  Seamen  —  I  feel  gratified,  as  by  a 
divine  harmony,  that  John  Albion  Andrew,  whom  I 
reverently  deem  the  most  Christ-like  of  all  war's  min 
isters,  should  sleep  in  the  same  country  grave-yard 
where  sleeps  that  old  communion-bearing  deacon  of 
your  church  —  that  honest,  stout,  old  deacon  —  who,  at 
the  capitulation  of  Yorktown,  by  the  order  of  his  friend 


JOHN  ALBION  ANDREW.  65 

as  well  as  commander,  Washington,  received  the  sword 
of  Cornwallis !  Major-general  Benjamin  Lincoln,  of  the 
army  of  the  Revolution,  and  John  Albion  Andrew,  twin 
patriots  of  the  elder  and  the  later  time !  God  grant 
them  rest ! 

"To  me,  this  Covenanter  spirit,  this  union  of  con 
science  and  claymore,  of  sword  and  gospel,  is  sublime. 
So,  in  the  will  and  inventory  of  Miles  Standish,  the 
great  Puritan  captain,  are  recorded  '  three  muskets  with 
bandaleros '  and  '  three  old  Bybles.'  Armed  thus  with 
faith  and  courage,  men 'are  girded  with  the  sword  of  the 
spirit,  and  become  the  Xaviers  or  the  Luthers  of  man 
kind." 

As  the  years  go  by,  the  memory  of  this  great 
and  good  man  will  be  more  and  more  appreciated. 
In  all  coming  time  the  sons  of  Massachusetts  will 
gratefully  remember  and  honor  the  man  "  who 
ordered  the  overcoats  and  received  the  flags." 

5 


II. 

JAMES   FKEEMAW. 


JAMES  FREEMAN. 


ONE  of  the  few  remaining  antiquities  in  the 
city  of  Boston  is  the  church  of  old  gray  stone, 
known  as  King's  Chapel.  Outwardly,  its  aspect 
is  one  of  solid  strength  rather  than  architectural 
pretension.  Its  interior,  however,  is  very  striking, 
and  to  my  mind,  superior  in  its  simple  elegance  to 
that  of  any  other  church  in  the  city.  It  is  said  to 
be  modeled  on  the  plan  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren's 
chef  cTceuvre,  St.  Stephen's,  Walbrook,  London. 
It  is  one  of  the  few  churches  which  contains  marble 
monuments  of  the  old  families  of  Boston.  In  my 
childhood  there  still  remained  the  state-pew  of  the 
colonial  governors,  higher  and  larger  than  the  other 
pews,  and  with  a  canopy  above  it.  This  build 
ing,  the  oldest  Episcopal  church  in  New  England, 
became  the  first  Unitarian  church  in  the  United 
States,  in  consequence  of  a  change  of  opinion  tak 
ing  place  in  the  mind  of  a  young  man  who  was 
chosen  as  reader  and  rector  by  this  society,  at  the 
close  of  the  American  Revolution.  This  young 
man  was  James  Freeman. 


Dr.  Freeman  is  known  to  the  religious  public  as 
the  first  avowed  preacher  of  Unitarianism  in  the 
United  States  :  he  is  remembered  by  the  people 
of  Boston  as  one,  who.  for  fifty  years,  was  identi 
fied  with  all  the  best  interests  of  that  community. 
Though  never  ambitious  of  literary  distinction,  his 
writings  occupy  an  important  place  in  the  litera 
ture  of  the  country,  both  for  justness  of  thought 
and  purity  of  expression.  But  the  friends  of  Dr. 
Freeman  forget  all  these  things  in  remembering 
his  personal  qualities.  They  recall  him  as  the 
playfellow  of  children,  the  friend  and  counsellor 
of  youth,  the  charming  companion  in  social  in 
tercourse,  whose  happy  sentences  were  always 
freighted  at  once  with  wit  and  wisdom,  and  in 
whose  character  were  beautifully  blended  the 
most  austere  uprightness  and  the  most  generous 
svmpathy.  As,  however.  I  cannot  speak  of  these 
things  without  appearing  to  strangers  to  exagger 
ate,  and  to  his  friends  to  understate,  his  peculiar 
exceDence,  I  shall  rather  dwell  on  the  events  of 
his  life ;  adding,  at  the  close,  some  traits  illustra 
tive  of  his  private  character. 

The  first  ancestor  of  Dr.  Freeman  who  came 
to  this  country  was  Samuel  Freeman,  proprietor 
of  the  eighth  part  of  Watertown.  Mass..  a  place 
settled  in  1630.  His  son  Samuel  went  to  East- 
ham,  on  Cape  Cod,  with  his  father-in-law.  Thomas 
Prince,  Governor  of  Plymouth.  He  inherited  his 
father-in-law's  estate  in  Eastham.  and  the  family 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  71 

remained  on  Cape  Cod  till  Constant  Freeman,  the 
father  of  the  subject  of  this  notice,  removed  to 
Charlestown,  Mass.,  about  1755.  James  Free 
man  was  born  in  Charlestown,  April  22,  1759. 
His  father  moved  to  Boston  soon  after,  and  he 
was  sent  to  the  public  Latin  School  in  that  citrv, 
then  under  the  care  of  Master  Lovell,  a  some 
what  famous  teacher  in  his  day.  He  entered  the 
school  in  1766,  being  seven  years  old,  at  that  time 
the  age  fixed  for  admission.  Among  his  class 
mates  were  the  late  Judge  Dawes,  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Massachusetts,  Rev.  Jonathan  Homer, 
D.  D.,  of  Newton,  Admiral  Sir  Isaac  Coffin,  of 
the  British  Xavy,  and  Sir  Bernard  Morland, 
afterward  a  member  of  the  British  Parliament. 
When  his  friend,  Dr.  Homer,  used  to  speak  of  the 
great  men  who  belonged  to  their  class  in  the 
Latin  School,  Dr.  Freeman  would  sometimes  add  : 
"  But,  Brother  Homer,  you  forget  our  classmate 
who  was  hanged.*'  The  name  of  this  unfortunate 
member  of  the  class  cannot  now  be  supplied. 

James  Freeman  entered  Harvard  College  in 
1773,  and  was  graduated  in  1777,  at  the  age  of 
eighteen.  Among  his  classmates,  were  Dr.  Bent- 
ley  and  Rufus  King.  The  American  Revolution 
dispersed  the  College,  and  interrupted  for  a  time 
his  studies.  But  he  must  have  laid  the  founda 
tion  of  good  scholarship  there.  In  after  years, 
he  was  an  excellent  Latin  scholar,  a  good  mathe 
matician,  and  read  with  ease  the  French,  Italian, 


72  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

Spanish,  and  Portuguese  languages.  In  the  latter 
languages,  I  recollect  his  reading  for  amusement, 
at  the  close  of  his  life,  the  works  of  Father  Feyjoo 
and  Father  Vieira.  With  the  writings  of  Cicero, 
Tacitus,  Lucretius,  and  other  Latin  authors,  he  was 
thoroughly  acquainted.  Though  he  always  spoke 
lightly  of  his  own  learning,  he  was  far  more  of  a 
scholar  than  many  men  of  greater  pretensions. 

After  leaving  College,  Mr.  Freeman  went  to 
Cape  Cod  to  visit  his  relatives  there ;  and,  as 
he  strongly  sympathized  with  the  revolutionary 
movement,  he  engaged  in  disciplining  a  company 
of  men  who  were  about  to  join  the  Colonial 
troops.  In  1780,  he  sailed  to  Quebec,  in  a  small 
vessel  bearing  a  cartel,  taking  with  him  his  sister, 
in  order  to  place  her  with  her  father,  then  in  that 
city.  On  his  passage,  he  was  captured  by  a  pri 
vateer,  and  was  detained  at  Quebec  after  his  ar 
rival,  first  in  a  prison-ship,  and  afterward  as  a 
prisoner  .on  parole.  He  did  not  leave  Quebec  till 
June,  1782,  when  he  sailed  again  for  Boston,  ar 
riving  there  about  the  1st  of  August.  Being  a 
candidate  for  the  ministry,  he  preached  in  several 
places,  and  was  invited,  in  September,  to  officiate 
as  Reader  at  the  King's  Chapel,  in  Boston,  for  a 
term  of  six  months. 

The  King's  Chapel  was  founded  in  1686,  and  a 
wooden  edifice  for  public  worship  was  built  in 
1690.  The  present  building,  which  is  of  stone, 
and  which  is  still  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  73 

church  architecture  in  New  England,  was  erected 
one  hundred  and  twenty-eight  years  ago,  —  the 
corner-stone  having  been  laid  in  1749.  Dr.  Caner, 
the  Rector  of  the  church,  had  espoused  the  Brit 
ish  cause,  and  he  accompanied  the  British  troops, 
when  they  evacuated  Boston,  in  -1776.  The  few 
proprietors  of  King's  Chapel,  who  remained  in 
Boston,  lent  their  building  to  the  Old  South  Con 
gregational  Church,  whose  house  of  worship  had 
been  used  by  the  British  army  as  a  riding-school. 
The  two  societies  occupied  the  building  alter 
nately,  each  with  its  own  forms  and  its  own  min 
ister,  —  one  in  the  morning  and  the  other  in  the 
afternoon.  Under  these  circumstances  Mr.  Free 
man  commenced  his  services  as  a  Reader. 

I  have  in  my  possession  a  file  of  letters  which 
Mr.  Freeman  wrote  to  his  father  in  Quebec,  from 
which  I  will  make  some  extracts,  showing  his 
opinions  and  feelings  at  this  time.  These  letters 
have  probably  not  been  opened  for  sixty  years. 

December  24,  1782 "I  suppose,  long  before 

this  reaches  you,  you  will  be  made  acquainted  with  my 
situation  at  the  Chapel.  The  church  increases  every 
day.  I  trust  you  believe  that,  by  entering  into  this  line, 
I  have  imbibed  no  High  Church  notions.  I  have  for 
tunately  no  temptations  to  be  bigoted,  for  the  propri 
etors  of  the  Chapel  are  very  liberal  in  their  notions. 
They  allow  me  to  make  several  alterations  in  the  ser 
vice,  which  liberty  I  frequently  use.  We  can  scarcely  be 
called  of  the  Church  of  England,  for  we  disclaim  the 


74  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

authority  of  that  country  in  ecclesiastical  as  well  as  in 

civil  matters I  forgot  to  mention  in  my  former 

letter  the  sum  I  receive  for  preaching.  For  the  first  six 
months,  I  am  to  be  paid  fifty  pounds  sterling.  This  is 
not  much,  but,  when  I  engaged,  the  church  was  small, 
consisting  only  of  about  forty  families.  It  has  already 
increased  to  nearly  eighty.  So  that  I  imagine  that  at 
the  end  of  the  six  months,  when  I  shall  enter  into  new 
terms,  the  salary  will  be  increased  to  two  hundred  and 
fifty  or  three  hundred  pounds  lawful  money  per  an 
num.  I  wish  for  no  more.  Indeed,  if  at  any  period  of 
life  I  knew  what  contentment  was,  it  is  at  present." 

In  the  course  of  the  year  or  two  following  his 
settlement,  Mr.  Freeman's  opinions  on  the  subject 
of  the  Trinity  were  so  far  modified  by  his  studies 
and  reflections  that  he  found  it  necessary  to  pro 
pose  to  his  church  to  alter  the  Liturgy  in  the 
places  where  that  doctrine  appears.  An  English 
Unitarian  minister,  Mr.  Hazlitt,  was  at  that  time 
residing  in  Boston,  and  his  intercourse  with  Mr. 
Freeman  may  have  contributed  to  this  change  of 
sentiment.  But  only  as  an  occasion — for  this 
change  of  view  lay  in  the  direction  of  the  tenden 
cies  of  Mr.  Freeman's  mind  and  of  the  tendency 
of  thought  in  that  community,  as  appears  from 
the  ease  with  which  Unitarianism  spread  in  Bos 
ton.  Mr.  Hazlitt  was  the  father  of  William 
Hazlitt,  the  essayist.  The  latter  was  born  in 
Boston,  and  Dr.  Freeman  used  to  speak  of  him  as 
a  curly-headed,  bright- eyed  boy. 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  75 

Dr.  Greenwood,  in  his  sermon  preached  after 
the  funeral  of  Dr.  Freeman,  thus  speaks  of  the 
way  in  which  this  change  of  the  Liturgy  was  ef 
fected.  He  says  that  Mr.  Freeman  first  thought 
of  leaving  his  Society.  "  He  communicated  his 
difficulties  to  those  of  his  friends  with  whom  he 
was  most  intimate.  He  would  come  into  their 
houses  and  say :  '  Much  as  I  love  you,  I  must 
leave  you.  I  cannot  conscientiously  any  longer 
perform  the  service  of  the  church,  as  it  now 
stands.'  But  at  length  it  was  said  to  him,  'Why 
not  state  your  -difficulties,  and  the  grounds  of 
them,  publicly  to  your  whole  people,  that  they 
may  be  able  to  judge  of  the  case,  and  determine 
whether  it  is  such  as  to  require  a  separation  be 
tween  you  and  them  or  not?'  The  suggestion 
was  adopted.  He  preached  a  series  of  sermons, 
in  which  he  plainly  stated  his  dissatisfaction  with 
the  Trinitarian  portions  of  the  Liturgy,  went  fully 
into  an  examination  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity, 
and  gave  his  reasons  for  rejecting  it.  He  has 
himself  assured  me  that  when  he  delivered  these 
sermons,  he  was  under  a  strong  impression  that 
they  were  the  last  he  should  ever  pronounce  from 
this  pulpit But  he  was  heard  patiently,  at 
tentively,  kindly.  The  greater  part  of  his  hearers 
responded  to  his  sentiments,  and  resolved  to  alter 
their  Liturgy  and  retain  their  Pastor." 

Alterations  were  accordingly  made  in  general 
conformity  with  those  of  the  amended  Liturgy  of 


76  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

Dr.  Samuel  Clarke,  and,  on  the  19th  of  June, 
1785,  the  proprietors  voted,  by  a  majority  of 
three  fourths,  to  adopt  those  alterations.1  In  a 
letter  to  his  father,  dated  the  first  of  June,  he 
says,  after  describing  the  changes  which  had  been 
made  in  the  Liturgy,  "  In  two  or  three  weeks,  the 
Church  will  finally  pass  the  vote  whether  they 
will  adopt  the  alterations  or  not.  I  flatter  myself 
the  decision  will  be  favorable ;  for  out  of  about 
ninety  families  of  which  the  congregation  con 
sists,  fifteen  only  are  opposed  to  the  reformation. 
Should  the  vote  pass  in  the  negative,  I  shall  be 
under  the  necessity  of  resigning  my  living."  He 
adds,  however,  that  in  this  case,  he  has  no  fear 
but  that  he  shall  find  employment  elsewhere. 
"  Thus,"  says  Mr.  Greenwood,  "  the  first  Episco 
pal  Church  in  New  England  became  the  first 
Unitarian  Church  in  the  New  World.  The  young 
Reader  at  King's  Chapel  was  surely  placed  in  pe 
culiar  circumstances.  It  is  his  praise  that  he  made 
a  right  and  manly  use  of  them ;  that  he  did  not 
smother  his  convictions  and  hush  down  his  con 
science,  and  endeavor  to  explain  away  to  himself, 

1  Before  this  vote  was  taken,  the  proprietors  had  taken  meas 
ures  to  ascertain  who  properly  belonged  to  the  church  as  pew- 
holders,  and  what  pews  had  been  forfeited  by  the  absence  of  their 
former  owners,  according  to  the  letter  of  their  deeds.  And,  that 
no  ground  of  complaint  should  exist,  the  proprietors  engaged  to 
pay  for  every  vacated  pew,  though  legally  forfeited,  the  sum  of  six 
teen  pounds  to  its  former  owner.  —  Greenwood's  History  of  King' s 
Chapel 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  77 

for  the  sake  of  a  little  false  and  outward  peace, 
the  obvious  sense  of  the  prayers  which  he  uttered 
before  God  and  his  people,  but  took  that  other 
and  far  better  course  of  explicitness  and  honesty. 
By  this  proper  use  of  circumstances  he  placed  him 
self  where  he  now  stands  in  our  religious  his 
tory."1 

The  next  thing  to  be  considered  was  the  mode 
of  ordination  to  be  received  by  Mr.  Freeman,  who 
was  as  yet  only  a  Reader.  In  a  letter  to  his 
father,  dated  October  31,  1786,  he  describes  an 
application  made  to  Bishop  Seabury  of  Connecti 
cut,  and  Bishop  Provost  of  New  York,  for  ordina 
tion,  from  which  the  following  extracts  are  taken, 
which  illustrate  both  the  opinions  of  the  time,  and 
the  character  of  Mr.  Freeman  :  — 

"  My  visit  to  Bishop  Seabury  terminated  as  I  expected. 
Before  I  waited  upon  him,  he  gave  out  that  he  never 
would  ordain  me;  but  it  was  necessary  to  ask  the  question. 
He  being  in  Boston  last  March,  a  committee  of  our  Church 
waited  upon  him,  and  requested  him  to  ordain  me,  with 
out  insisting  upon  any  other  conditions  than  a  declara 
tion  of  faith  in  the  Holy  Scriptures.  He  replied  that,  as 
the  case  was  unusual,  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  con 
sult  his  presbyters  —  the  Episcopal  clergy  in  Connecti 
cut.  Accordingly,  about  the  beginning  of  June,  I  rode 
to  Stratford,  where  a  convention  was  holding,  carrying 
with  me  several  letters  of  recommendation.  I  waited 
upon  the  Bishop's  presbyters  and  delivered  my  letters. 

1  Greenwood's  Sermon  after  the  funeral  of  Dr.  Freeman,  p.  1 1. 


78  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

They  professed  themselves  satisfied  with  the  testimonials 
which  they  contained  of  my  moral  character,  etc.,  but 
added  that  they  could  not  recommend  me  to  the  Bishop 
for  ordination  upon  the  terms  proposed  by  my  church. 
For  a  man  to  subscribe  the  Scriptures,  they  said,  was 
nothing,  for  it  could  never  be  determined  from  that  what 
his  creed  was.  Heretics  professed  to  believe  them  not 
less  than  the  orthodox,  and  made  use  of  them  in  support 
of  their  peculiar  opinions.  If  I  could  subscribe  such  a 
declaration  as  that  I  could  conscientiously  read  the  whole 
of  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  they  would  cheerfully 
recommend  me.  I  answered  that  I  could  not  conscien 
tiously  subscribe  a  declaration  of  that  kind.  '  Why  not  ? ' 
*  Because  there  are  some  parts  of  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer  which  I  do  not  approve.'  '  What  parts  ?  '  '  The 
prayers  to  the  Son  and  Holy  Spirit.'  '  You  do  not  then 
believe  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.'  *  No.'  '  This  ap 
pears  to  us  very  strange.  We  can  think  of  no  texts 
which  countenance  your  opinion.  We  should  be  glad  to 
hear  you  mention  some.'  i  It  would  ill  become  me,  gen 
tlemen,  to  dispute  with  persons  of  your  learning  and  abil 
ities.  But  if  you  will  give  me  leave,  I  will  repeat  two 
passages  which  appear  to  me  decisive  :  There  is  one  God, 
and  one  Mediator  between  God  and  man,  the  man  Christ 
Jesus.  There  is  but  one  God,  the  Father,  and  one  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  In  both  these  passages  Jesus  Christ  is 
plainly  distinguished  from  God,  and  in  the  last,  that  God 
is  expressly  declared  to  be  the  Father.'  To  this  they 
made  no  other  reply  than  an  '  Ah ! '  which  echoed  round 
the  room.  <  But  are  not  all  the  attributes  of  the  Father/ 
said  one,  '  attributed  to  the  Son  in  the  Scriptures  ?  Is 
not  Omnipotence  for  instance  ? '  '  It  is  true,'  I  answered, 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  79 

'  that  our  Saviour  says  of  himself,  All  power  is  given 
unto  me,  in  heaven  and  earth.  You  will  please  to  ob 
serve  here  that  the  power  is  said  to  be  given.  It  is  a 
derived  power.  It  is  not  self-existent  and  unoriginated, 
like  that  of  the  Father.'  '  But  is  not  the  Son  omni 
scient?  Does  he  not  know  the  hearts  of  men  ?'  'Yes, 
He  knows  them  by  virtue  of  that  intelligence  which  He 
derives  from  the  Father.  But,  by  a  like  communica 
tion,  did  Peter  know  the  hearts  of  Ananias  and  Sapphira.' 
After  some  more  conversation  of  the  same  kind,  they 
told  me  that  it  could  not  possibly  be  that  the  Christian 
world  should  have  been  idolaters  for  seventeen  hundred' 
years,  as  they  must  be  according  to  my  opinions.  In 
answer  to  this,  I  said  that  whether  they  had  been  idola 
ters  or  not  I  would  not  determine,  but  that  it  was  full 
as  probable  that  they  should  be  idolaters  for  seventeen 
hundred  years  as  that  they  should  be  Roman  Catholics 
for  twelve  hundred.  They  then  proceeded  to  find  fault 
with  some  part  of  the  new  Liturgy.  'We  observe  that 
you  have  converted  the  absolution  into  a  prayer.  Do 
you  mean  by  that  to  deny  the  power  of  the  Priesthood 
to  absolve  the  people,  and  that  God  has  committed  to 
it  the  power  of  remitting  sins ? '  'I  meant  neither  to 
deny  nor  to  affirm  it.  The  absolution  appeared  ex 
ceptionable  to  some  persons,  for  which  reason  it  was 
changed  into  a  prayer,  which  could  be  exceptionable  to 
nobody.'  '  But  you  must  be  sensible,  Mr.  Freeman, 
that  Christ  instituted  an  order  of  Priesthood,  arid  that 
to  them  He  committed  the  power  of  absolving  sins. 
Whosesoever  sins  ye  remit  they  are  remitted  unto  him,  and 
whosesoever  sins  ye  retain  they  are  retained.'  To  this  I 
made  no  other  reply  than  a  return  of  their  own  emphatic 


80  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

Ah  !  Upon  the  whole,  finding  me  an  incorrigible  here 
tic,  they  dismissed  me  without  granting  my  request. 
They  treated  me,  however,  with  great  candor  and  polite 
ness,  begging  me  to  go  home,  to  read,  to  alter  my  opin 
ions,  and  then  to  return  and  receive  that  ordination,  which 
they  wished  to  procure  for  me  from  their  Bishop.  I  left 
them  and  proceeded  to  New  York.  When  there  I 
waited  on  Mr.  Provost,  Rector  of  the  Episcopal  Church, 
who  is  elected  to  go  to  England  to  be  consecrated  a 
Bishop.  I  found  him  a  liberal  man,  and  that  he  ap 
proved  of  the  alterations  which  had  been  made  at  the 
Chapel.  Of  him  I  hope  to  obtain  ordination,  which  I 
am  convinced  he  will  cheerfully  confer,  unless  prevented 
by  the  bigotry  of  some  of  his  clergy.  The  Episcopal 
ministers  in  New  York,  and  in  the  Southern  States, 
are  not  such  High  Churchmen  as  those  in  Connecticut. 
The  latter  approach  very  near  to  Roman  Catholics,  or 
at  least  equal  Bishop  Laud  and  his  followers.  Should 
Provost  refuse  to  ordain  me,  I  shall  then  endeavor  to 
effect  a  plan  which  I  have  long  had  in  my  head,  which 
is,  to  be  ordained  by  the  Congregational  ministers  of  the 
town,  or  to  preach  and  administer  the  ordinances  with 
out  any  ordination  whatever.  The  last  scheme  I  most 
approve ;  for  I  am  fully  convinced  that  he  who  has  de 
voted  his  time  to  the  study  of  divinity,  and  can  find  a 
congregation  who  are  willing  to  hear  him,  is,  to  all  in 
tents,  a  minister  of  the  Gospel ;  and  that,  though  impo 
sition  of  hands,  either  of  Bishops  or  Presbyters,  be  nec 
essary  to  constitute  him  priest  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  in 
some  countries,  yet  that,  in  the  eye  of  Heaven,  he  has 
not  less  of  the  indelible  character  than  a  Bishop  or  a 
Patriarch.  Our  early  ancestors,  who,  however  wrong 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  81 

they  might  be  in  some  particulars,  were  in  general  sen 
sible  and  judicious  men,  were  of  this  opinion.  One  of 
the  articles  of  the  Cambridge  Platform  is  that  the  call 
of  the  congregation  alone  constitutes  a  man  a  minister, 
and  that  imposition  of  hands  by  Bishops  or  Elders  is  a 
mere  form,  which  is,  by  no  means,  essential.  The  same 
sentiments  are  adopted  by  the  most  rational  clergy  in 
the  present  day,  who  give  up  the  necessity  of  ordination 
as  indefensible,  and  ridicule  the  doctrine  of  the  uninter 
rupted  succession  as  a  mere  chimera.  I  am  happy  to 
find  many  of  my  hearers  join  with  me  in  opinion  upon 
this  subject." 

As  might,  perhaps,  have  been  foreseen,  It  was 
found  impossible  to  procure  Episcopal  ordination, 
and  Mr.  Freeman  and  his  church  finally  deter 
mined  on  a  method  differing  from  both  of  those 
suggested  in  his  letter.  He  was  neither  ordained 
by  the  Congregational  ministers  of  Boston,  nor 
yet  did  he  omit  all  ceremony  of  induction,  but  (as 
Mr.  Greenwood  says)  he  fell  back  on  first  princi 
ples,  and  was  ordained  by  the  church  itself,  by  a 
solemn  service  at  the  time  of  evening  prayer,  No 
vember  18,  1787.  The  Wardens  entered  the  desk 
after  the  usual  evening  service,  and  the  Senior 
Warden  made  a  short  address,  showing  the  rea 
sons  of  the  present  procedure.  The  first  ordaining 
prayer  was  read,  then  the  ordaining  vote,  to  which 
the  members  gave  assent  by  rising,  by  which  they 
chose  Mr.  Freeman  to  be  their  "  Rector,  Minister, 
Priest,  Pastor,  and  Ruling  Elder."  Other  ser- 


82  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

vices  followed,  among  which  was  the  presenting  a 
Bible  to  the  Rector,  enjoining  on  him  "  a  due  ob 
servance  of  all  the  precepts  contained  therein." 

From  the  time  that  Mr.  Freeman  was  thus  set 
apart  to  his  office,  he  sustained  the  various  duties 
of  the  ministry  till  1809,  when  the  Rev.  Samuel 
Gary  was,  at  his  request,  associated  with  him  as 
colleague ;  after  whose  death,  in  1815,  he  again 
served  alone  till  1824,  when  the  Rev.  F.  W.  P. 
Greenwood  was  inducted  as  colleague.  In  1811, 
he  received  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity  from 
Harvard  College.  In  1826,  his  health  had  so  far 
given  way  that  he  was  obliged  to  give  up  to  Mr. 
Greenwood  his  parochial  duties  and  retire  to  a 
country  residence  near  Boston.  Here  he  lived 
nine  years,  surrounded  by  the  affection  of  young 
and  old,  and,  though  suffering  from  painful  dis 
ease,  always  cheerful,  and  at  length  expired  No 
vember  14,  1835,  in  the  seventy-seventh  year  of 
his  age. 

Dr.  Freeman  was  a  member  of  the  first  School 
Committee  ever  chosen  by  the  people  of  Boston, 
which  was  elected  in  1792,  the  schools  before  that 
time  being  under  the  charge  of  the  Selectmen  of 
the  town.  He  was  for  many  years  on  this  Com 
mittee,  and  was  one  of  those  by  whose  labors  the 
Public  School  System  of  Boston  has  been  brought 
to  its  present  excellent  condition.  He  was  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  So 
ciety,  and,  during  a  long  period,  one  of  its  most 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  83 

active  collaborators,  contributing  many  valuable 
papers  to  its  collections.  He  was  also  a  member 
of  the  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences. 
His  publications  consist  of  a  Thanksgiving  Ser 
mon,  1784  ;  a  Description  of  Boston,  published  in 
the  Boston  Magazine,  1784  ;  Remarks  on  Morse's 
American  Universal  Geography,  1793  ;  a  Sermon 
on  the  Death  of  Rev.  John  Elliot,  D.  D.,  1813 ; 
a  volume  of  Sermons  published  in  1812,  which 
passed  through  three  editions ;  and  another  vol 
ume  in  1829,  printed  as  a  gift  for  his  parish,  but 
not  published ;  besides  many  articles  in  periodi 
cals.  He  printed  no  controversial  sermons,  and 
indeed  seldom  preached  them.  His  style  was  sen 
tentious  and  idiomatic,  and  has  often  been  spoken 
of  as  a  model  of  pure  English.  Though  there  is 
no  trace  of  ambitious  thought  or  expression  in  his 
writings,  their  tone  and  spirit  are  wise  and  healthy. 
Although  Dr.  Freeman  was  the  first,  who,  in 
this  country,  openly  preached  Unitarianism,  under 
that  name,  he  always  referred  to  Dr.  Mayhew  and 
others  as  having  preached  the  same  doctrine  be 
fore.  This  was  no  doubt  true.  Some  form  of 
Arianism  had  prevailed  in  New  England  for  sev 
eral  years  before  Dr.  Freeman's  time  ;  but  he  was 
the  first  to  avow  and  defend  the  doctrine  by  its 
distinct  name.  This  fact  necessarily  brought  him 
into  relations  with  other  advocates  of  these  opin 
ions,  and  he  corresponded  with  Priestley  and  Bel- 
sham,  and  especially  with  Theophilus  Lindsey, 


84  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

whose  character  he  much  esteemed.  He  also  had 
sympathy  from  Chauncy,  Belknap,  and  others 
older  than  himself,  and  among  his  contemporaries 
from  men  like  Bentley,  Clarke,  Eliot,  Kirkland. 
And  as  he  loved  to  "  keep  his  friendships  in  re 
pair,"  he  was  surrounded  in  after  years  by  multi 
tudes  of  younger  friends  and  disciples.  He  loved 
the  young,  and  always  sought  to  help  them.  I 
have  been  told  of  his  urging  new  married  people 
among  his  parishioners  to  join  the  smaller  and 
struggling  parish  of  some  young  minister  —  "  Go 
there,"  he  would  say,  "  and  grow  up  with  that 
church,  and  make  yourselves  useful  in  it."  He 
sympathized  with  young  men  in  their  diffident 
first  efforts,  and  always  encouraged  and  befriended 
them.  How  then  could  the  young  help  loving 
him  ?  He  was  no  zealot  for  his  own  opinions, 
but  a  thoroughly  liberal  man,  and  was  intimate 
with  men  of  all  denominations.  The  good  Bishop 
Cheverus  was  one  of  his  best  friends.  He  could 
not  tolerate  intolerance,  and  disliked  Unitarian 
bigotry  quite  as  much  as  Orthodox  bigotry.  I 
have  heard  him  say,  "  Sterne  complains  of  the  cant 
of  criticism.  I  think  the  cant  of  liberality  worse 
than  that.  I  have  a  neighbor  who  comes  and  en 
tertains  me  that  way,  abusing  the  Orthodox  by 
the  hour,  and,  all  the  time,  boasting  of  his  own 
liberality."  He  carried  his  freedom  of  mind  into 
matters  of  taste  as  well  as  matters  of  opinion. 
Bred  in  the  school  which  admired  the  writers  of 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  85 

Queen  Anne's  day,  he  loved  Addison,  Pope,  Swift, 
Gay,  and  in  Theology,  such  writers  as  the  Boyle 
Lecturers  and  James  Foster.  But  finding  that 
many  young  persons  were  interested  in  Words 
worth  and  Coleridge,  he  patiently  read  these  au 
thors  to  see  if  he  could  find  any  good  in  them.  I 
remember  his  reading  Coleridge's  "  Aids  to  Re 
flection,"  and  his  "  Friend,"  in  the  last  years  of 
his  life,  and,  when  he  had  finished  them,  he  said, 
"  I  find  some  excellent  ideas  in  him,  though  I  do 
not  understand  all  his  mysteries.  He  is  a  cloudy 
fellow.  I  leave  those  parts  to  you  younger  folks." 
The  leading  traits  in  Dr.  Freeman's  character, 
which  immediately  impressed  all  who  saw  him, 
were  benevolence,  justice,  and  a  Franklin-like  sa-. 
gacity.  He  could  endure  to  see  no  kind  of  op 
pression,  and  was  always  ready  to  take  sides  with 
any  whom  he  thought  overborne.  He  was  punc 
tilious  in  keeping  all  engagements,  and  his  hon 
esty  descended  into  the  smallest  particulars  of  life. 
A  lady  said  she  had  seen  him  once  under  the  fol 
lowing  circumstances.  "  I  was  riding,  with  an 
other  lady,  past  Dr.  Freeman's  house,  in  the  town 
of  Newton,  and  we  noticed  a  dwelling  opposite, 
which  seemed  closed  and  unoccupied,  the  garden 
of  which  was  full  of  flowers.  We  thought  of 
gathering  a  few,  and  while  we  hesitated,  we  no 
ticed  an  old  gentleman,  with  long  white  locks 
hanging  on  his  shoulders,  slowly  walking  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road.  I  asked  him  whether  he 


86  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

thought  that,  as  there  was  no  one  living  in  the 
house,  we  might  gather  some  of  the  flowers.  He 
looked  up  at  us  with  an  arch  smile,  and  said, 
4  They  are  not  my  flowers,  pretty  ladies.'  Some 
what  confused,  I  repeated  my  question,  to  which 
he  replied,  —  c  I  have  no  right  to  give  them  to  you, 
they  are  not  my  flowers,  pretty  ladies.'  We  rode 
away,  not  knowing  till  afterward  who  it  was,  but 
having  received  a  lesson  in  regard  to  the  rights  of 
others  which  we  were  not  likely  soon  to  forget." 

A  few  examples  taken  from  his  familiar  conver 
sation,  though  trifling  in  themselves,  will  illustrate 
his  character  and  turn  of  mind. 

A  lady,  who  had  heard  of  the  Atheist,  Abner 
Kneeland,  giving  public  lectures  in  defense  of  bis 
views,  said,  u  What  a  dreadful  thing  it  is,  Dr. 
Freeman!"  "  I  think  it  will  do  a  great  deal  of 
good,"  replied  he,  and  then  mentioned  a  variety 
of  facts  to  show-  that  arguments  in  support  of  In 
fidelity  had  always  brought  out  so  many  new  de 
fenses  of  Christianity  as  to  leave  religion  on  a 
higher  and  more  impregnable  basis. 

He  was  a  great  lover  of  truth,  but  his  regard 
for  the  feelings  of  others  kept  him  from  harsh 
ness.  To  a  young  friend,  whom  he  thought  in 
danger  of  carrying  independence  too  far,  he  said, 
"  It  is  well  to  be  candid,  but  you  need  not  say 
everything  which  is  in  your  mind.  If  a  person, 
on  being  introduced  to  me,  should  say,  'Dr.  Free 
man,  what  a  little,  old,  ugly,  spindle-shanked  gen- 


JAMES  FEE  EM  AN.  87 

tleman  you  are,'  lie  would  no  doubt  say  what  was 
in  his  mind,  but  it  would  not  be  necessary,  I 
think,  for  him  to  say  it." 

Some  one  said  to  him  of  a  book :  "  It  is  too 
long."  "  All  books  are  too  long,"  he  replied,  — 
"  I  know  only  one  book  which  is  not  too  long,  and 
that  is  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  I  sometimes  think 
that  a  little  too  long." 

He  related  this  anecdote  of  the  famous  Mather 
Byles.  "  I  was  once  walking  with  Dr.  John 
Clarke,  and  we  met  Mather  Byles.  He  took  my 
arm  and  said,  '  Now  we  have  the  whole  Bible 
here.  I  am  the  Old  Testament,  yon,  Mr.  Clarke, 
are  the  New  Testament,  and  as  for  Mr.  Freeman, 
he  is  the  Apocrypha.' ' 

As  Dr.  Freeman  was  talking  one  evening  in  his 
family,  I  took  notes  of  his  remarks  without  his 
being  aware  of  it.  From  these  I  copy  the  follow 
ing  sentences  :  — 

"  Do  you  see  human  faces  in  the  coals  of  fire  ?  The 
propensity  I  have  to  form  the  human  figure  is  frequently 
annoying  to  me.  I  make  men  and  immediately  put  them 
into  a  fiery  furnace." 

"  I  find  I  am  growing  very  thin.  Some  people  carry 
handkerchiefs  to  wipe  away  tears  which  they  do  not 
shed,  so  I  wear  clothes  to  conceal  limbs  which  I  do  not 
possess." 

"  Is  that  Coleridge  you  are  reading  ?  Coleridge  him 
self  reads  curious  books,  —  the  authors  who  wrote  in 
Latin  at  the  revival  of  learning.  We  have  Better 


88  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

writers  now.  To  be  sure,  there  were  Grotius  and  Bu- 
dreus,  who  were  excellent  writers,  and  especially  Eras 
mus.  Knox  wrote  well.  But  he  was  an  arrogant  and 
rash  man.  He  condemned  the  French  Sermon  writers, 
and  said  how  inferior  they  were  to  the  English.  As  an 
instance,  he  quoted  an  Englishman,  who  had  in  fact 
copied  from  the  French.  That  fellow  did  not  find  it 
out.  In  his  Essays,  Knox  declares  all  mysteries  and 
all  knowledge,  gives  advice  to  young  merchants  and  to 
young  tailors.  He  was  a  man  of  bad  manners.  He 
attacked  the  King  of  Prussia  bitterly.  The  king  stood 
such  things,  however,  with  great  fortitude.  He  was 
satisfied  with  possessing  absolute  power." 

"You  are  reading  'John  Buncle.'  The  author,  it 
seems,  was  a  Unitarian.  About  Emlyn's  days,  Unita- 
rianism  had  not  made  much  progress.  Did  he  get  any 
persecution  ?  They  used  to  put  Unitarians  in  jail. 
Our  ancestors  would  have  undoubtedly  done  so,  or  more 
probably  would  have  put  them  to  death.  But  jione  ap 
peared.  Dr.  Mayhew  was  the  first  who  cared  much 
about  it.  There  was  a  certain  concealment  practiced 
before  about  the  Trinity.  Fisher"  (of  Salem,  I  sup 
pose)  "  had  a  singular  way  of  satisfying  his  conscience. 
He  was  asked  how  he  could  read  the  Athanasian  creed 
when  he  did  not  believe  it.  He  replied,  '  I  read  it  as  if 
I  did  not  believe  it.'  Those  are  poor  shifts.  Mr.  Pyle 
being  directed  by  his  Bishop  to  read  it,  did  so,  saying, 
' 1  am  directed  to  read  this,  which  is  said  to  have  been 
the  creed  of  St.  Athanasius,  but  God  forbid  that  it 
should  be  yours  or  mine.'  As  the  English  rubric  orders 
this  creed  to  be  '  said  or  sung,'  another  man  had  it  set  to 
a  hunting-tune  and  sang  it.  These  methods,  I  think, 


JAMES  FREEMAN.  89 

would  hardly  satisfy  the    conscience   of  a  truth-loving 


man. 


This  is  a  random  specimen  of  his  conversation  in 
the  last  years  of  his  life.  If  any  one  had  thought 
of  recording  his  sayings,  a  very  agreeable  book  of 
table-talk  might  have  been  easily  prepared.  But 
this  is  one  of  the  things  we  are  apt  to  remember 
when  it  is  too  late. 

I  cannot  better  close  this  notice  than  by  some 
further  extracts  from  Dr.  Greenwood. 

"  Dr.  Freeman  was  truly  humble,  but  he  was  above 
all  the  arts  of  deception  and  double-dealing ;  and  he 
could  not  be  awed  or  moved  in  any  way  from  self-re 
spect  and  duty.  He  made  all  allowances  for  ignorance 
and  prejudice  and  frailty,  but  arrogance  he  would  not 
submit  to,  and  hypocrisy  he  could  not  abide." 

"  He  possessed  in  a  remarkable  manner  the  virtue  of 
contentment.  You  heard  no  complaints  from  him.  He 
was  abundantly  satisfied  with  his  lot,  —  he  was  deeply 
grateful  for  his  lot.  The  serenity  of  his  countenance 
was  an  index  to  the  serenity  of  his  soul.  The  angel  of 
contentment  seemed  to  shade  and  fan  it  with  his  wings. 
'  I  have  enjoyed  a  great  deal  in  this  life,'  he  used  to  say, 
4  a  great  deal  more  than  I  deserve.'  " 

"  He  loved  children,  and  loved  to  converse  with  and 
encourage  them,  and  draw  out  their  faculties  and  affec 
tions.  His  manners,  always  affable  and  kind,  were 
never  so  completely  lovely  as  in  his  intercourse  with 
them.  Naturally  and  insensibly  did  he  instill  moral 
principles  and  religious  thoughts  into  their  minds,  and 
his  good  influence,  being  thus  gentle,  was  permanent." 


90  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

"  The  mind  of  Dr.  Freeman  was  one  of  great  origi 
nality.  It  arrived  at  its  own  conclusions,  and  in  its  own 
way.  You  could  not  be  long  in  his  society  without 
feeling  that  you  were  in  the  presence  of  one  who  ob 
served  and  reflected  for  himself." 

"  Even  when  his  mind  grew  enfeebled,  it  showed  its 
strength  in  weakness.  His  memory  sometimes  failed 
him,  and  his  ideas  would  become  somewhat  confused,  in 
the  few  months  preceding  his  death ;  but  his  bearing 
was  always  calm  and  manly  ;  he  fell  into  no  second 
childhood." 

"  He  looked  upon  death,  as  it  approached  him,  with 
out  fear,  yet  with  pious  humility.  He  viewed  the  last 
change  as  a  most  solemn  change  ;  the  judgment  of  God 
upon  the  soul  as  a  most  solemn  judgment.  'Let  no  one 
say,  when  I  am  dead,'  —  so  he  expressed  himself  to  his 
nearest  friends,  —  '  that  I  trusted  in  my  own  merits.  I 
trust  only  in  the  mercy  of  God  through  Jesus  Christ.'  " 

So  lived,  labored,  and  died  James  Freeman.  A 
man  who  impressed  himself  on  all  his  friends,  on 
his  community,  and  on  his  time,  as  a  pure  and 
true  influence,  for  which  we  might  well  be  grate 
ful.  Many  might  say,  in  the  words  of  a  French 
philosopher :  u  D'autres  ont  eu  plus  d'influence, 
sur  mon  esprit,  et  mes  idees.  Lui,  ma  montre 
une  ame  Chretienne.  C'est  encore  a  lui  que  je 
dois  le  plus." 


III. 

CHARLES  SUMNEB. 


CHARLES  SUMNEK. 
HIS  CHARACTER  AND  CAREER.1 


SINCE  the  tragical  decease  of  Abraham  Lincoln, 
the  death  of  no  man  has  made  such  an  impression 
on  the  public  heart  of  America  as  that  of  Charles 
Sumner.  The  departure  of  John  A.  Andrew  was 
felt  as  deeply,  but  not  as  widely  ;  for  our  great 
War  Governor  had  not  been  so  long  nor  so  exten 
sively  conspicuous.  Far  and  wide  the  nation  feels 
the  loss  of  the  Massachusetts  Senator,  and  feels  it 
as  a  great  public  disaster.  The  din  of  political 
discussion  is  hushed  for  a  few  days ;  the  roar  of 
business  is  suspended  in  the  great  cities,  while 
he  is  carried  to  his  grave.  Public  bodies  pass  re 
solves  expressive  of  their  sense  of  a  general  be 
reavement  ;  men  take  each  other  by  the  hand  in 
the  street,  and  in  low  tones  utter  a  few  words  of 
mutual  grief.  The  friends  who  have  fought  by 
his  side  during  long  years,  when  success  seemed 
hopeless,  —  whose  little  barks  have  sailed  attend- 

1  An  Address  read  to  the  Church  of  the  Disciples,  March  15, 
1874. 


94  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

ant  on  his,  and  partaken  the  gale  ;  younger  men, 
who  have  chosen  him  for  their  leader,  and  amid 
the  thick  of  battle  pressed  where  they  saw  his 
white  plume  wave,  now  clasp  hands  in  silent  sym 
pathy.  The  colored  people,  whose  hearts  are  al 
ways  right,  though  their  heads  are  often  wrong, 
some  of  whom  had  allowed  themselves  to  become 
estranged  from  him  by  the  arts  of  demagogues, 
now  recognize  in  him  the  best  friend  their  race  has 
ever  had — a  friend  who,  with  his  dying  breath, 
still  besought  that  equal  rights  might  be  given  to 
them.  Massachusetts,  disgraced  by  an  unauthor 
ized  act  of  her  Legislature,  has  hastened  to  ex 
press  her  undiminished  confidence  in  her  Senator, 
righting  the  wrong  where  it  was  given  ;  and,  hap 
pily,  her  voice  reached  him  in  the  senate  cham 
ber  before  he  left  it  forever.  Even  those  who 
have  opposed  him  and  criticised  him  in  life,  come, 
as  the  custom  is,  to  hang  wreaths  on  his  tomb. 
Politicians,  speech-makers,  and  preachers,  who  had 
little  sympathy  with  him  in  his  struggles  and  suf 
ferings,  join  the  mourners  at  his  death,  and  float 
in  the  great  current  of  sympathy.  Those  who  be 
lieved  his  course  wrong  and  his  judgments  un 
sound,  are  now  disposed  to  revise  their  opinions, 
and  admit  that  he  may  have  been  right,  after  all. 
Anger  is  hushed,  hatred  is  rebuked,  the  voice  of 
censure  is  still.  Those  whose  evil  schemes  he  baf 
fled,  whose  selfish  plans  he  exposed  —  those  who 
were  tired  of  hearing  Aristides  called  just  —  now 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  95 

feel,  for  a  moment  at  least,  how  poor  was  their 
position  by  the  side  of  his. 

In  the  presence  of  this  striking  phenomenon  of 
universal  grief,  I  am  disposed  to  modify  a  criticism 
I  lately  made  in  this  place  on  the  character  of  the 
American  people.  I  said  then  that  our  idolatry  is 
the  adoration  of  smartness^  Perhaps  it  is,  but  it 
is  now  apparent  that  while  we  admire  intellect,  we 
worship  integrity.  For  this  general  sorrow  means 
love.  Smart  men  are  admired,  Charles  Snmner  is 
loved.  This  indicates  that,  beneath  all  its  super 
ficial  judgments,  the  American  people  knows  and 
reveres  what  is  truly  good.  Smart  men  may  be 
popular,  but  the  public  heart  goes  out  in  love  only 
to  those  whom  it  can  trust.  So  it  was  when  Abra 
ham  Lincoln,  so  when  John  Albion  Andrew,  died  ; 
so  now  at  the  death  of  Charles  Sumner.  For 
these  three  were  all  of  the  same  type  of  honesty, 
sincerity,  conscience.  All  had  encountered  oppo 
sition  and  incurred  unpopularity  in  life ;  and  all 
three  at  their  death  have  received  the  homage  of  a 
nation's  tears. 

Charles  Sumner  was  the  most  unpopular,  per 
haps,  of  all.  He  was  eminently  what  politicians 
call  an  "  impracticable  man ;  "  that  is,  a  man  who 
cannot  be  induced  to  sacrifice  his  principles  to  the 
success  of  his  party,  or  to  silence  his  convictions 
for  the  sake  of  his  own  interest.  Nor  had  he  that 
tact  which  some  men,  and  many  women,  possess, 
by  which  they  can  express  unpalatable  opinions 


96  CHARLES   SUMNER. 

without  irritating  their  opponents.  He  had  the 
kindest  heart ;  he  would  not  intentionally  hurt  his 
worst  enemy;  he  never  bore  malice,  though  he 
deeply  felt  a  wrong ;  but  he  was  not  adroit  in  the 
use  of  language,  and  so,  often,  without  intending 
it,  he  wounded  the  vanity,  the  prejudices,  the 
pride,  the  self-conceit,  of  his  opponents.  And 
these  wounds  are  seldom  forgiven  or  forgotten. 
Therefore,  this  warm,  large  heart,  longing  for 
sympathy,  prizing  friendship  so  highly,  was  con 
tinually  misunderstood,  and  was  very  much  alone. 
People  accused  him  of  self-conceit,  arrogance, 
and  vanity.  This  was  partly  owing  to  the  child 
like  naivete  with  which  he  would  talk  of  his  own 
career  and  his  own  accomplishments. ''  What  other 
men  think  and  conceal,  he  said.  But  to  me  his 
narratives  were  always  very  interesting ;  and  I 
gladly  listened  by  the  hour  to  his  account  of  those 
transactions,  all  of  which  he  saw  and  a  part  of 
which  he  was.  For  the  subjects  were  never  un 
important  ;  they  related  to  the  most  momentous 
events,  to  the  most  critical  times.  In  those  events 
he  was  an  important  actor ;  and  he  spoke  of  him 
self  and  what  he  did  with  perfect  simplicity,  just  as 
he  spoke  of  what  Lincoln  and  Stanton  said  and  did. 
I  am  afraid  there  will  be  nothing  nearly  so  interest 
ing  in  the  books  which  he  labored  with  so  much 
care,  as  in  those  anecdotes  of  his  daily  life,  which 
probably  perished  forever.  His  books,  though  full 
of  learning  and  thought,  are  a  little  stately,  while 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  97 

his  talk  had  the  charm  of  spontaneous  inspiration, 
and  was  illustrated  by  that  sweet  smile,  radiant  of 
good-will,  and  coming  fresh  from  the  fountain  of 
an  uncorrupt  heart. 

No  doubt  Charles  Sumner  was  born  with  a  large 
desire  for  human  approbation.  He  longed  for  the 
esteem  of  his  fellow-men  as  few  long  for  it.  And, 
therefore,  it  was  greatly  to  his  credit  that  he  made 
himself  unpopular,  from  first  to  last,  by  advocating 
causes,  aiid^announcing  ideas,  ulfuany~In  advance" 
of  the  time.  He  loved  approbation,  hut.  TIF> 


bought  it  by  disloyalty  to  a  conviction.  Some 
men  take  pleasure  in  being  persecuted,  and  are  a 
little  uneasy  if  not  engaged  in  a  fight.  Sumner 
loved  peace  with~~all  his  heart,  but  was  obliged, 
for  conscience'  sake,  £o  be  always  in  war.  He 
loved  the  good-will  of  those  around  him  ;  but  he 
was  obliged  to  relinquish  it.  He  loved  sunshine 
—  and  had  to  live  in  storms.  Therefore,  the  fact 
that  he  was  very  approbative  I  regard  as  an  ele 
ment  of  his  greatness.  He  would  not  have  been 
so  noble  without  it,  for  his  fidelity  to  principle 
would  not  have  cost  him  so  dear. 

Abraham  Lincoln  and  Sumner  were  always 
friends,  for  they  were  men  of  the  same  type.  Dif 
ference  of  opinion  never  estranged  them,  for  they 
met  on  a  plane  higher  than  that  of  opinion.  But 
many  others  disliked  Sumner  because  he  kept  him 
self  always  on  that  upper  level  of  principle.  The 
air  was  too  thin  for  them  to  breathe.  He  would 

7 


98  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

not  come  down  to  the  more  comfortable  platform 
of  party  expediency.  They  only  asked  him  to  be 
silent.  If  he  had  consented  to  that,  he  might 
have  continued  the  most  powerful  statesman  in 
the  country.  But  he  could  not  be  silent  in  the 
face  of  any  question  of  right  and  wrong.  So  it 
was  decided  that  he  should  be  crushed,  and  all  the 
noxious  elements  in  the  political  world  were  com 
bined  against  him,  and  he  was  removed  from  his 
most  important  place.  But  he  had  his  consola 
tions.  He  had  the  aid  of  that  "  strong-siding 
champion,  conscience,"  and  he  found  the  truth  of 
the  poet's  statement  that 

"  Far  more  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels 
Than  Csesar  with  a  Senate  at  his  heels." 

When  a  man  dies  whose  virtues  have  created 
hostility,  who  has  been  vilified  and  slandered, 
there  often  comes  a  singular  reaction.  When 
death  lays  its  pale  hand  on  the  brow,  men  sud 
denly  forget  their  prejudices  and  dislikes,  and 
recognize  the  greatness  of  soul  that  before  was 
hidden  from  their  eyes.  So,  when  this  nation  was 
weeping  for  Lincoln  —  "  in  the  passion  of  an  angry 
grief" — those  who  had  been  ridiculing  him  for 
years  confessed  their  wrong,  and  acknowledged  his 
greatness.  So  it  is  now,  in  the  case  of  Charles 
Sumner.  Death,  removing  him  from  our  outward 
eye,  enables  us  to  see  him  inwardly  and  truly. 
Thus  have  we  looked  at  a  mountain,  and  only  seen 
the  creeping  mists  and  clouds  which  concealed  it ; 


CHARLES  SUM  NEE.  99 

but  when  the  west  wind  moved  the  air,  the  vapors 
were  suddenly  dispersed,  and  the  pure  snowy  sum 
mits  came  out  in  sharp  outline  against  the  blue 
sky.  Death  does  the  office  of  that  cold  wind. 
After  the  earthquake  and  fire  arid  tempest  of  pas 
sionate  and  godless  strife  have  passed,  death 
comes,  and  the  Lord  speaks  to  us  in  that  still, 
small  voice. 

One  reason,  I  think,  why  the  people  loved 
Charles  Sumner,  is,  that  they  felt  how  much 
larger  his  views  were  than  those  of  most  of  his 
companions  in  the  Senate.  They  did  not,  per 
haps,  say,  "  He  is  a  statesman,  the  others  are  poli 
ticians,"  but  they  recognized  the  fact.  When  any 
important  question  came  up,  other  men  might  con 
sider  it  in  relation  to  party  interests.  Sumner  al 
ways  attempted  to  study  it  in  the  light  of  history 
and  political  science.  He  sought  to  know  and  to 
declare  the  truth  in  regard  to  it  —  the  truth  as 
deduced  from  the  past  experience  of  nations  and 
the  mature  judgments  of  the  wise.  The  country 
is  in  peril  to-day,  because  there  are  so  few  states 
men  in  public  life.  We  send  men  to  Congress  to 
legislate  on  the  currency,  on  finance,  on  taxation, 
who  are  mere  local  politicians,  who  have  devoted 
their  lives  to  the  management  of  parties,  who  know 
nothing  of  political  economy,  nothing  of  commerce, 
who  have  never  studied  any  work  on  finance,  — 
men  who  imagine  that  by  printing  a  sufficient 
number  of  pieces  of  paper  with  the  word  "  dollar  " 


100  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

on  them,  we  shall  make  every  one  rich.  And  now 
when  the  place  of  a  statesman  is  to  be  filled,  now, 
when  we  need  in  Congress  men  acquainted  with 
practical  affairs,  it  is  proposed  to  send  some  other 
politician.  Why  not  sometimes  a  man  who  has 
never  meddled  with  politics,  but  who  is  sagacious 
and  experienced  in  mercantile  pursuits,  —  some 
man  of  business,  of  whom  we  have  many  in  Bos 
ton,  with  a  statesman's  intellect  ? 

Another  reason  for  this  national  grief  at  the 
death  of  Charles  Sumner  was  his  belief  in  man  — 
his  broad  humanity.  His  life  was  devoted  to  the 
service  of  his  race,  —  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
white  and  black.  To  him  ,man  was  sacred.  He 
did  not  feel  the  cynical  contempt  which  it  is  the 
fashion  to  express  for  sentiment.  His  nature  was 
rich  in  generous  and  noble  feelings,  and  it  was  this 
very  thing  which  gave  him  such  power  over  the 
people.  A  character  devoid  of  sentiment  awakens 
no  enthusiasm.  The  best  knowledge  is  not  reached 
by  the  cold  intellect  alone,  but  by  the  heart  and 
intellect  united.  No  one  has  ever  gained  any  deep 
and  lasting  influence  over  men  who  did  not  pos 
sess  something  of  this  sacred  ardor,  this  prophetic 
vision,  a  sight  beyond  sight,  which  pierces  through 
the  veil,  and  makes  everything  which  is  honorable, 
noble,  just,  and  generous,  as  real  as  daylight  and 
sunshine.  Sumner  owed  his  hold  on  the  people 
to  his  large  endowment  of  noble  sentiment.  Poli 
ticians  could  not  understand  it.  Men  who  thought 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  101 

that  the  only  wires  to  be  pulled  were  those  of  self 
ishness,  tried  again  and  again  to  defeat  him  here 
in  Massachusetts  ;  but  they  tried  in  vain.  His 
anchor  went  to  a  depth  their  sounding-line  could 
not  fathom,  and  held  by  the  eternal  rock  of  human 
nature.  During  all  the  long  conflict  with  slavery, 
his  voice  was  heard  like  a  trumpet,  appealing  to 
the  rights  of  man.  He  stood  conspicuous  in  the 
nation's  eye,  a  young  Apollo  — 

"  In  silent  majesty  of  stern  disdain," 

and  dreadful  was  the  clangor  of  his  silver  bow  as 
he  shot  his  arrows  thick  and  fast  into  the  sophisms 
used  by  slaveholders  and  their  allies.  When  they 
could  not  reply  with  argument,  ^hey  silenced  him 
with  murderous  filows^  But  Sunnier  dicTas  much 
for  the  cause  of  freedom  by  his  suffering  as  he  had 
done  by  his  speech.  When  the  news  of  that  as 
sault  reached  Boston,  a  meeting  was  hastily  called 
—  I  think  in  the  Tremont  Temple.  Boston  then 
raised  its  voice  against  that  cowardly,  brutal,  and 
murderous  assault  on  a  Massachusetts  Senator. 
But  many  a  man  who  did  not  raise  his  voice  in 
public  at  that  time,  took  a  vow  of  hostility  in  his 
heart  against  the  institution  which  prompted  that 
assassination. 

Once,  while  Mr.  Sumner  was  here  in  Boston, 
still  suffering  from  those  injuries,  I  was  passing 
his  house  in  Hancock  street,  and  went  in  to  see 
him.  He  was  in  his  chamber,  resting  in  an  easy 


102  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

chair,  and  with  him  were  three  gentlemen.  J[Je_ 

introduced  one  of  them^to  me_  as  Captain  John 

Brown,  of  Ossawattomie.     It  was  the  first  time  I 

had  ever  seen  John  Brown.     They  were  speaking 

of  this  assault  by  Preston  Brooks,  and  Mr.  Sum- 

/  nersaid,  "  The  coat  I  had  on  at  the  time  is  hanging 

in  that  closet.     Its  collar  i^stift "wilKHBTobd.   ~You 

['    can  see  it,  if  you  please, Ijaptain." John  Brown 

I    arose,  went  to  tEe  ^Toset,  Jpowly  opened  the  door, 

\  carefully  took  down  the  coat,  and  looked  at ._it_  for 

\  a  few  minutes  with  the  reverence  with  which  a 

Roman  Catholic  regards  the  relics  of  a  saint.     It 

may  be  the  sight  of  that  garment,  Caused  him  to 

feel  a  still  deeper  abhorrence^  of  slavery,  and  to 

take   a   stronger  resolution  of  attacking  it  in  its 

strongholds.     So  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  is  the 

seed  of  the  church. 

Once,"  when  Mr.  Sumner  was  showing  me  his 
autograph  of  John  Milton,  he  said  :  "  Perhaps  I 
have  a  special  interest  in  that  MS.,  on  account  of 
what  happened  to  me  one  day  after  my  injury.  I 
had  tried  to  go  back  to  my  place  in  the  Senate 
twice,  but  found  myself  unable  to  remain  there. 
The  second  time,  after  I  returned  to  my  own 
chamber,  deeply  discouraged,  I  said  :  4  Then  this 
is  the  end.  It  is  all  over  with  me  now.'  And  I 
confess  that  the  tears  came  to  my  eyes,  thinking  I 
could  do  no  more  work  for  my  race  or  my  country. 
But  I  raised  my  eyes,  and  saw  before  me  a  volume 
of  Milton.  I  took  it  down  and  opened  it  mechan- 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  103 

ically.  It  opened  at  his  noble  sonnet  on  his  own 
blindness,  to  Cyriack  Skinner,  where,  he  says,  that 
for  three  years  he  has  not  seen  sun  or  moon  or 
man  or  woman. 

'  What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ?  / 

\      The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them,  overplied  f 

1      In  Liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task, 

1      Ofwhich  all  Europe  rings',  from  side  to  side.' 

I  read  this,"  said  Mr.  Sumner,  "and  I,  too,  felt 
comforted  and  encouraged  by  the  words  of  Mil 
ton." 

So  it  is  that  nobleness,  courage,  faith,  extend 
themselves  !  Not  only  is  the  blood  of  the  martyrs 
the  seed  of  the  church,  but  the  thoughts  of  brave 
men  leap  over  gulfs  of  two  centuries,  and  inspire 
with  fresh  hope  other  heroes,  fighting  other  battles 
of  liberty. 

Wordsworth,  in  one  of  his  sonnets,  says  that 
England  has  need  of  Milton,  and  that  he  ought  to 
be  living  now. 

"  0,  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again  — 

And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power." 

But  Milton  is  living  with  us  still,  in  his  great 
example  and  his  inspiring  words.  He  stood  by 
the  side  of  Charles  Sumner  in  that  hour  of  dark 
ness,  and  raised  him  up.  And  so  shall  Charles 
Sumner  live,  and  after  two  centuries  shall  his  ex 
ample  inspire  and  awaken  other  souls,  in  this  land 
and  elsewhere,  to  do  their  duty,  so  as  to  be  able  to 


104  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

say  with  him — "I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I 
have  finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith." 

Those  of  us  who  were  so  fortunate  as  to  be  in 
our  church  hall  on  the  evening  in  December, 
when  Mr.  Sumner  was  present,  had  an  example 
of  his  kindness  of  heart  and  affability  of  manner. 
I  had  asked  him  to  come,  and  he  gave  no  definite 
promise,  so  that  I  hardly  expected  him.  He  was 
taking  tea  in  Cambridge  that  evening,  yet  he 
came  to  Boston,  and  found  his  way  by  the  street 
car  to  the  vestry.  It  pleased  him  to  see  how  glad 
we  all  were  to  speak  to  him  and  shake  hands  with 
him.  With  a  good  deal  of  reluctance,  he  finally 
yielded  to  your  requests  to  say  something  to  us  all. 
But  when  he  began  to  speak  his  heart  warmed  to 
ward  the  young  people  present,  and  he  addressed 
himself  to  them,  telling  them  what  great  opportu 
nities  were  awaiting  them  in  the  approaching 
years.  He  said  no  word  of  the  past;  nothing  of 
what  he  had  seen  and  done ;  only  of  the  magnifi 
cent  future  which  was  before  the  rising  genera 
tion,  and  the  noble  duties  which  they  had  to  fulfill. 
In  him,  it  seemed,  then,  that  — 

"  Old  experience  did  attain 
To  something  of  prophetic  strain." 

Nothing  could  be  more  modest,  genial,  friendly, 
than  were  his  words  and  conversation  at  that  time. 
A  happy  smile  was  on  his  face  all  the  evening, 
and  I  could  not  but  fancy  that  he  felt  more  at 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  105 

home  among  these  youthful  admirers,  than  in  the 
Senate  Chamber  or  among  his  political  associates. 
It  is  a  pleasant  memory  to  carry  in  our  hearts. 
Once  or  twice  he  said  that  he  wished  he  had  been 
born  later,  so  as  to  be  able  to  take  part  in  the 
events  which  are  to  come  soon.  In  regard  to  this, 
one  lady  said  to  him  afterward,  that  "  she  thought 
the  Lord  knew  better  than  he  did  when  he  ought 
to  have  been  born."  And,  indeed,  how  indispen 
sable  has  his  work  been  during  the  last  twenty- 
three  years !  Others  may  have  been  before  him 
in  originating  the  anti-slavery  movement ;  others 
may  have  come  closer  to  the  common  people  in 
urging  the  abolition  of  slavery  ;  some  may  have 
been  more  fiery~;"some  more  adroit.  But  where 
do  we  find~combined  in  one  person  so  much  of 
moral  sentiment  with  so  much~TiTEellectual  culture  ; 
so  much  unity  of  "aim  with  vaTiety"bT  attainment ; 
such  purity  of  heart  joined  to  such  practiced  abil-  I 
ity ;  so  much  of  white-souled  integrity  and  faithful  j 
industry  in  work  ;  such  sweetness  and  such  cour- 
age ;  such  readmiess'torbraTe  enemies,  and  patience  I 
to  endure  sufferings,  as  we  iind  united  in  the  life/ 
and  character  of  Charles  Sumner !  ' 

In  one i  of  Theodore JPar^Brj  letters  to  Charles 
Sumner,  he  says :  "I  look  to  you  to  be  a  leader  in 
morals  —  to  represent  justice.  I  expect  you  to 
make  mistakes  —  blunders.  I  hope  they  will  be 
intellectual  and  not  moral;  that  you  will  never 
miss  the  right,  however  you  may  miss  the  expedi- 


106  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

ent.  All  our  States  were  built  on  the  opinion  of 
to-day.  I  hope  you  will  build  on  the  Rock  of 
Ages,  and  look  to  Eternity  for  your  justification. 
You  see,  my  dear  Sumner,  I  expect  much  of  you. 
I  expect  heroism  of  the  most  heroic  kind.  Yours 
is  a  place  of  great  honor,  of  great  trust,  but  of  pro 
digious  peril;  and  of  that  there  will  be  few  to 
warn  you,  as  I  do  now.  You  see  that  I  try  you 
by  a  difficult  standard,  and  that  I  am  not  easily 
pleased.  I  hope  some  years  hence  to  say :  '  You 
have  done  better  than  I  advised.' ' 

Perhaps  that  time  has  arrived.  When  these 
two  noble  souls  meet  in  the  eternal  world,  I  think 
that  Theodore  will  say  to  Charles :  "  You  have 
done  better  than  I  advised" 

[I  add,  below,  the  selection  of  Scriptures  read  on  this  occasion. 
These  passages  seem  to  describe  Charles  Sumner  as  if  they  had 
been  written  for  him ;  and  are  another  example  of  the  fact 
that  the  Bible  is  a  mine  of  thoughts  and  expressions  where 
may  be  found  the  very  words  needed  for  all  events,  and  with 
which  to  describe  all  characters.] 

Help,  Lord!  for  the  godly  man  ceaseth,  for  the  faith 
ful  fail  from  among  the  children  of  men. 

Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the  Lord  ?  and  who 
shall  stand  in  his  holy  place? 

He  that  hath  clean  hands,  and  a  pure  heart,  who  hath 
not  lifted  up  his  soul  unto  vanity,  nor  sworn  deceitfully. 

Mark  the  perfect  man,  and  consider  the  upright,  for 
the  end  of  that  man  is  peace. 

He  put  on  righteousness,  and  it  clothed  him ;  his  jus 
tice  was  his  robe  and  diadem. 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  107 

Unto  him  men  gave  ear  and  waited ;  they  kept  silence 
for  his  counsel.  They  waited  for  his  words  as  for  the 
rain,  and  opened  their  mouths  as  for  the  latter  rain. 

When  our  iniquities  had  separated  between  us  and 
God,  when  our  hands  were  defiled  with  blood,  when 
justice  was  turned  backward,  and  we  spoke  oppression, 

Then  the  Lord  stood  up  to  plead,  and  said,  What 
mean  ye,  that  ye  beat  my  people  to  pieces,  and  grind 
the  faces  of  the  poor  ? 

Is  not  this  the  fast  that  I  have  chosen,  to  loose  the 
bands  of  wickedness,  and  let  the  oppressed  go  free,  and 
that  ye  break  every  yoke  ? 

For  ye  have  not  hearkened  unto  me,  saith  the  Lord, 
in  proclaiming  liberty  every  man  to  his  neighbor,  and 
every  man  to  his  brother,  but  brought  them  into  subjec 
tion,  to  be  unto  you  for  servants  and  for  handmaids. 

Therefore,  thus  said  the  Lord,  Behold !  Son  of  Man, 
I  have  made  thy  face  strong  against  their  faces,  and  thy 
forehead  strong  against  their  forehead :  as  an  adamant, 
harder  than  flint,  have  I  made  thy  forehead :  fear  them 
not,  therefore,  nor  be  dismayed  at  their  looks,  though 
they  be  a  rebellious  house. 

Those  who  understood  him  not  shall  say :  This  is  he 
whom  we  had  sometimes  in  derision,  and  a  proverb  of 
reproach. 

We  fools  accounted  his  life  madness,  but  now  is  he 
numbered  among  the  saints. 

For  glorious  is  the  fruit  of  good  labors,  and  the  fruit 
of  wisdom  shall  never  fall  away. 

The  memorial  of  virtue  is  immortal ;  for  when  it  is 
present,  men  take  example  of  it ;  and  when  it  is  gone, 
they  desire  it;  it  weareth  a  crown  and  triumpheth  for 
ever. 


108  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

God  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  of  men  to 
dwell  on  all  the  face  of  the  earth  ;  and  God  hath  shown 
us  that  we  ought  not  to  call  any  man  common  or  un 
clean. 

He  stood  up  as  a  fire,  and  his  word  burned  as  a  lamp. 
He  did  wonders  in  his  life,  and  after  his  death  his  body 
prophesied. 

Approving  himself  in  all  things  as  a  servant  of  God  — 
in  much  patience,  in  afflictions,  in  necessities,  in  dis 
tresses,  in  stripes,  in  tumults,  in  labors,  in  watchings,  in 
fastings ;  by  pureness,  by  knowledge,  by  long-suffering, 
by  kindness,  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  by  love  unfeigned,  by 
the  word  of  truth,  by  the  armor  of  righteousness  on  the 
right  hand  and  on  the  left ;  by  honor  and  dishonor,  by 
evil  report  and  good  report ;  as  a  deceiver,  and  yet  true ; 
as  unknown,  and  yet  well-known ;  as  dying,  and,  behold, 
he  lives  ;  as  chastened,  and  not  killed  ;  as  sorrowful,  yet 
alway  rejoicing;  as  poor,  yet  making  many  rich;  as 
having  nothing,  and  yet  possessing  all  things. 

Wherefore,  seeing  that  we  are  compassed  about  with 
so  great  a  cloud  of  witnesses,  let  us  lay  aside  every 
weight,  and  run  with  patience  the  race  set  before  us. 

THE  BATTLE-FLAGS  AND  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

[The  following  extract  is  from  remarks  made  at  a  hearing  before 
a  Committee  of  the  Massachusetts  Legislature,  to  which  was 
referred  the  question  of  repealing  the  vote  of  a  previous  Leg 
islature,  which  censured  Sumner  for  proposing  to  have  the 
names  of  the  battles  fought  in  our  civil  war  taken  from  the 
United  States  battle-flags.  The  resolution  was  repealed;  and 
the  notice  that  Massachusetts,  on  second  thoughts,  had  taken 
back  her  words  of  condemnation,  fortunatelv  was  placed  in 
Sumner's  hand  just  before  his  death.] 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  109 

We  have  just  passed  through,  gentlemen,  a  great  his 
toric  period.  We  have  concluded  a  long  and  terrible 
struggle,  in  which  the  deadliest  enemy  to  the  peace  and 
prosperity  of  republican  institutions  has  been  at  last 
conquered.  Among  those  who  carried  on  that  long  war 
was  one  who  went  from  Boston  to  the  United  States 
Senate  in  1851, —  a  comparatively  young  man.  He 
had  made  himself  unpopular  here  by  opposing  the  men 
and  the  measures  which  were  then  fashionable.  Daniel 
Webster  was  then  the  idol  of  this  community,  and  every 
man  who  opposed  him  was  at  once  ostracized.  This 
young  man  was,  by  nature,  very  fond  of  the  approbation 
of  his  fellow-men  ;  he  was  not  a  Luther  nor  an  Elijah, 
indifferent  to  public  opinion.  No  man  ever  felt  more 
keenly  than  he  the  opposition  of  enemies,  the  estrange 
ment  of  friends,  "  hard  unkindness'  altered  eye,"  unjust 
censure,  false  accusation.  Yet,  during  twenty  years,  he 
has  encountered  all  these.  Like  Cato,  he  could  say, "  The 
gods  love  the  triumphant  cause  —  the  conquered  cause 
is  the  one  I  defend."  He  began  his  public  career  in 
Congress  by  attacking,  in  unanswerable  argument,  the 
infamous  fugitive  slave  bill.  He  opposed  with  all  the 
energy  of  his  nature,  and  all  the  power  of  his  intellect, 
the  repeal  of  the  Missouri  compromise,  and  the  intro 
duction  of  slavery  into  Kansas,  and  for  this  speech  was 
struck  down  on  the  floor  of  Congress.  He  has  always 
advocated  emancipation,  and  during  the  war  his  voice 
was  always  raised  against  all  concession  or  compromise. 
He  is  the  Abdiel  of  our  day,  — 

"  Among  innumerable  false  unmoved, 
Unshaken,  unseduced,  unterrified." 

Owing  to  his  labors  and  sufferings,  and  those  of  his  no- 


110  CHARLES  SUMNER. 

ble  anti-slavery  companions,  the  United  States  is  now 
really  free  and  really  one.  The  war  has  ended  in  peace 
and  union.  Wishing  to  obliterate  the  signs  of  disunion, 
he  has  proposed  to  remove  from  the  army  register  and 
the  flags  of  the  United  States  army  the  names  of  the 
battles  fought  between  the  North  and  the  South,  —  to 
the  flags  of  the  States  this  resolution  does  not  apply. 
Mr.  Sumner  has  not  proposed,  and  does  not  propose,  to 
change  a  single  motto  on  any  monument  or  any  flag  in 
the  whole  North.  But  the  army  of  the  United  States 
is  now  the  army  of  the  whole  country.  It  now  recruits 
its  soldiers  from  every  State,  and  I  entirely  agree  with 
Mr.  Sumner  that  it  would  be  eminently  proper  and  right 
that  on  those  national  banners  no  sign  of  the  past  con 
flict  shall  remain.  Yet  for  making  this  proposition,  so 
perfectly  just  and  right  if  the  Union  is  restored,  a  ma 
jority  of  the  legislature  of  Massachusetts  saw  fit  to  cen 
sure  this  patriot,  this  hero  of  liberty,  this  noble  and 
chivalric  champion  of  human  rights  and  human  freedom. 
This  was  done  by  men,  many  of  whom  owe  their  posi 
tion  on  that  floor  to  what  he  and  his  companions  have 
endured  and  done  when  they  were  playing  marbles  or 
studying  their  English  grammar.  Such  a  vote  of  cen 
sure  will  do  no  harm  to  our  Senator.  His  reputation 
and  influence  stand  on  too  deep  a  foundation  to  be  dis 
turbed  by  such  an  act  —  an  act  which  will  do  more  injury 
to  those  who  perpetrated  it  than  to  him.  Many  of  them, 
no  doubt,  were  sincere,  and  thought  they  were  doing 
right,  and  they  may  be  sorry  for  what  they  have  done, 
but  will  not  have  to  blame  themselves.  But  when  in  a 
few  years  the  green  sod  shall  be  placed  over  the  form  of 
Charles  Sumner,  and  he  sleeps  where  "  the  wicked  cease 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  Ill 

from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest,"  —  then,  when, 
as  recently  in  the  case  of  Horace  Greeley,  and  formerly 
in  the  case  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  all  the  angry  voices  of 
hatred  are  swallowed  up  in  one  grand  tide  of  grateful 
remembrance,  I  think  that  in  that  day  it  will  not  be  a 
pleasant  thing  to  remember  that  the  Massachusetts  legis 
lature  censured  him,  after  all  his  years  of  toil  in  her 
service,  because  he  carried  the  principles  of  peace  per 
haps  a  little  too  far ;  because  he  was  a  little  too  gener 
ous,  too  magnanimous,  and  too  ardent  in  his  desire  for 
full  and  entire  reconciliation  between  the  North  and  the 
South.  Might  he  not  use  the  same  language  as  Ed 
mund  Burke  did  before  his  constituents  at  Bristol,  should 
he  want  to  make  an  explanation  of  his  conduct :  "  And 
now,  gentlemen,  on  this  solemn  day,  when  I  come,  as  it 
were,  to  make  up  my  accounts  with  you,  let  me  take  to 
myself  some  degree  of  honest  pride  from  the  nature  of 
the  charges  which  are  brought  against  me.  I  do  not 
here  stand  before  you  accused  of  venality  or  neglect  of 
duty.  It  is  not  said  that,  in  the  long  period  of  my  ser 
vice,  I  have  sacrificed  the  slightest  of  your  interests  to 

my  ambition  or  to  my  fortune No  !    The  charges 

against  me  are  all  of  one  kind  ;  that  I  have  pushed  the 
principles  of  general  justice  and  benevolence  too  far, 
further  than  a  cautious  policy  might  warrant,  and  further 
than  the  opinions  of  many  would  go  along  with  me.  In 
whatever  accident  may  happen  to  me  in  life;  in  pain,  in 
sorrow,  in  depression,  in  distress,  I  will  call  to  mind 
these  accusations,  and  be  comforted." 


IV. 
THEODOEE  PAEKEE. 


THEODORE  PARKER.1 


WE  have,  during  the  last  week,  heard  of  the 
death  of  Theodore  Parker,  —  a  noble  and  worthy 
soul,  known  well,  honored  and  loved  by  most  of 
us.  I  cannot  let  this  day  pass  by  without  taking 
occasion  to  say  a  few  words,  however  incomplete 
and  inadequate,  in  memory  of  his  worth.  And,  in 
speaking  of  him,  I  hope  to  avoid  all  extravagance 
of  eulogy,  all  indiscriminate  praise,  all  sweeping 
generalities  of  statement.  As  he  to  others,  so  I  to 
him.  He  once  refused  to  accept  the  established 
rule  of  necrology,  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum,  — 
"  Say  nothing  but  good  of  the  dead ;  "  and  sub 
stituted  for  it  this  other  and  better  rule,  De  mor 
tuis  nil  nisi  verum,  —  "  Say  nothing  but  truth  of 
the  dead. "  "  It  is  no  merit,"  added  he,  "  to  die. 
Why  praise  a  man  because  he  is  dead  ?  "  I  will 
remember  this  honesty,  brother,  in  speaking  of 
thee. 

Theodore  Parker  was  the   ripe   fruit   of   New 

England;    baptized   in   the   Lexington    Meeting- 

1  A  discourse  delivered  after  his  death,  June  3, 


116  THEODORE  PARKER. 

house  ;  learning  his  letters  in  the  primary  school ; 
taking  strength  from  the  granite  and  gravel  be 
low,  and  from  the  cold  winter  winds  above  ;  learn 
ing  freedom  of  utterance  at  town-meeting ;  inher 
iting  strong  sense,  clear  logic,  and  penetrating  in 
sight,  in  his  ancestral  blood ;  of  the  stock  of  the 
Puritans ;  of  the  tribe  of  Massachusetts  ;  a  Yankee 
of  the  Yankees ;  a  Unitarian  also,  by  inheritance 
from  plain-thinking  parents ;  and  as  touching  all 
youthful  habits  of  behavior,  all  moral  requisitions 
of  a  strict  community,  blameless.  No  man  more 
than  he,  since  Benjamin  Franklin,  has  shown  those 
traits  of  common  sense,  joined  with  abstract  spec 
ulation  ;  sensibility  of  conscience,  poised  with  calm 
judgment ;  the  fanatic's  devotion  to  ideas,  with 
the  calculating  prudence  of  a  man  of  the  world ; 
which  make  the  basis  of  New  England  character 
and  its  essential  strength. 

When,  on  the  19th  of  April,  1775,  the  British 
troops  marched  to  Lexington  and  Concord,  they 
found  at  Lexington  the  militia  company  of  that 
town  —  eighty  strong  —.  drawn  up  on  the  green, 
in  front  of  the  Meeting-house,  to  receive  them. 
The  captain  of  the  company  waited  till  the  British 
troops  —  eight  hundred  in  all  —  had  reached  the 
green  and  deployed  into  line  opposite,  and  till 
their  commander  had  ordered  the  Americans  to 
disperse.  Then  he,  too,  gave  the  same  order  to 
his  men ;  not  wishing  to  sacrifice  life  in  a  useless 
resistance  to  overwhelming  numbers,  but  letting 


THEODORE  PARKER.  117 

the  British  soldiers,  for  the  first  time,  look  in  the 
face  of  the  American  militia.  But,  while  they 
were  dispersing,  the  British  fired ;  and  the  green 
sward,  on  that  April  morning,  was  stained  with 
the  first  American  blood  which  fell  in  the  great 
struggle.  Out  in  Kentucky,  the  hunters  heard  of 
it,  and  baptized  their  newly  planted  town  by  the 
name  of  Lexington.  In  Europe,  the  nations  heard 
of  it,  and  dated  from  that  hour  the  beginning  of  a 
n,ew  era  for  the  destinies  of  man.  The  captain  of 
that  militia  company  was  John  Parker,  grand 
father  of  our  Theodore  ;  and  his  gun  was  kept  by 
Theodore  in  his  study,  to  be  used,  if  necessary,  in 
protecting  the  fugitive  slave  under  his  roof. 

Born  thus,  amid  New- England  life,  in  a  farmer 's. 
home  ;  driving  the  cows  to  the  field,  and  going  to 
the  district  school ;  listening  to  sermons,  and  to 
discussions  in  town-meeting  ;  studying  his  Latin 
grammar  by  the  light  of  the  kitchen  fire;  harden 
ing  his  body  and  soul  with  stern  manual  labor, 
and  training  his  intellect  by  the  wholesome  stud 
ies  of  the  common  schools,  —  the  genius  of  Theo 
dore  Parker  took  its  flight  upward,  from  its  hum 
ble  nest  in  the  meadow-grass  to  its  singing-place 
among  the  stars.  It  is  an  honor  to  our  institu 
tions  when  they  train  up  their  boys  into  such  men 
as  he. 

There  is  no  real  greatness  where  we  do  not  find 
in  a  man  the  three  elemental  tendencies  of  Intel 
lect,  Affection  and  Will,  —  all  in  full  and  harmo- 


118  THEODORE  PARKER. 

nious  activity.  Either  of  them  alone  cannot  con 
stitute  greatness.  We  see,  among  practical  men, 
some  of  immense  energy,  who  sweep  everything 
before  them  by  their  resistless  will ;  but  they  are 
not  great  men;  for  their  energy  is  not  directed  by 
any  great  thought,  and  not  inspired  by  any  gener 
ous  love.  And  there  are  also  men  of  great  intel 
lectual  powers,  but  without  any  energetic  purpose, 
any  clear  aim  ;  whose  knowledge  tends  nowhere. 
Like  gold  locked  up  in  a  miser's  iron  chest,  their 
intellectual  powers  and  treasures  profit  no  one, 
and  are  useless.  And  so  there  may  be  love,  — 
saintly  love  to  God,  humane  love  to  man ;  but 
because  not  illuminated  by  insight,  nor  directed 
by  energetic  purpose,  it  stagnates  into  a  merely 
sentimental  piety,  a  sentimental  philanthropy. 

Theodore  Parker's  intellect  was  remarkable  for 
its  varied— faculties.  It  was  strong  in  analysis 
and  synthesis,  in  marshaling  a  multitude  of  facts, 
and  in  ascending  from  facts  to  comprehensive 
laws.  His  memory  of  details  was  astonishing ; 
but  his  power  of  systematizing  those  details  — 
making  them  drill  in  companies,  and  march  in 
squadrons,  and  take  on  the  order  of  battle  —  was 
equally  striking.  His  mind  was  strong  in  its  per 
ceptions  and  apprehensions;  very  able  to  seize  and 
retain  individual  facts.  In  his  childhood,  he  could 
repeat  whole  cantos  of  poetry,  and  could  learn  by 
heart  a  poem  of  five  hundred  lines  at  a  reading. 
Before  he  was  ten  years  old,  he  had  studied  bot- 


THEODORE  PARKER.  119 

any  so  as  to  know  all  the  shrubs  and  trees  of  Mas 
sachusetts,  and  the  names  and  habits  of  the  plants 
in  his  vicinity.  At  ten,  he  began  Latin ;  at  eleven, 
Greek.  At  twenty-one,  he  had  read  Virgil  twenty 
times,  Horace  nearly  as  often ;  besides  having 
made  himself  master  of  chemistry,  natural  philos 
ophy,  astronomy,  and  mathematics.  Presently  he 
added  French,  Latin,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Ger 
man,  and  afterward  Hebrew. 

And  all  this  knowledge  was  live  knowledge. 
There  are  some  men  who  accumulate  facts  as  the 
ants  gather  grains.  They  are  merely  the  collec 
tors  of  dry  seeds,  which  never  germinate.  They 
are  the  slaves  of  their  knowledge,  —  not  its  mas 
ters.  There  are  great  scholars  who  never  know 
what  to  do  with  their  accumulated  stores.  Not 
so  with  our  friend.  His  mind  was  not  like  a  for 
est  in  winter,  when  the  trees  stand  close  above 
and  the  bushes  thick  below,  and  where  the  icy 
branches  rattle  together  while  the  cold  wind  roars 
through  their  tops.  It  was  like  the  same  forest 
when  the  summer  sun  has  poured  life  into  every 
part,  and  the  myriad  buds  and  leaves  expand ; 
when  the  blossoms  open,  the  birds  and  insects  flit 
through  the  tender  foliage,  and  a  soft  perfume 
comes  mingled  from  a  thousand  flowers. 

Theodore  Parker  possessed  a  power  of  acquisi 
tion,  which  few  men,  out  of  Germany,  have  had. 
He  knew  the  contents  of  all  the  books  in  his  li 
brary.  He  could  take  the  substance  out  of  a  book 


120  THEODORE  PARKER. 

in  an  incredibly  short  time.  On  that  fatal  win 
ter  which  broke  down  his  constitution  and  de 
termined  his  fate  (the  winter  which  killed  him), 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  filling  a  carpet-bag,  not 
with  novels,  but  with  works  of  tough  philoso 
phy  and  theology,  in  Greek,  Latin,  German,  in 
old  black-letter  print,  and  yellow  parchment  cov 
ers  ;  and  would  study  them,  Monday,  while  riding 
in  the  cars,  to  lecture  on  Monday  night;  study 
them,  Tuesday,  while  riding  to  lecture  at  another 
place  on  Tuesday  night ;  and  so  on,  studying  all 
day  and  lecturing  every  night,  till  Friday.  On 
Friday  he  would  come  home,  write  his  Sunday's 
sermon  on  Saturday  forenoon,  visit  the  sick  and 
suffering  of  his  society  on  Saturday  afternoon, 
preach  Sunday  morning  to  two  or  three  thousand 
people,  rest  a  little  on  Sunday  afternoon,  receive 
his  friends  on  Sunday  evening,  and  away  again  on 
Monday. 

I  asked  him,  "  Do  you  read  all  your  books?  and 
do  you  know  what  is  in  them  ?  "  "I  read  them 
all,"  said  he,  "  and  can  give  you  a  table  of  con 
tents  for  each  book."  During  that  winter  he  lec 
tured  to  about  eighty  thousand  persons,  in  every 
part  of  the  free  states,  from  Maine  to  Wisconsin. 

When  in  Germany  he  went  to  see  the  old  theo 
logian,  Ferdinand  Christian  Baur,  of  Tubingen, 
and  he  asked  him  how  many  hours  a  day  he  stud 
ied.  The  old  man  replied  with  a  sigh,  "Ach! 
leider,  nur  achtzehn,"  —  "Alas!  only  eighteen." 


THEODORE  PARKER.  121 

Parker  never  studied  eighteen  hours  a  day,  I  sup 
pose  ;  but  I  think  he  put  the  twenty-four  hours' 
study  of  common  men  into  his  six  or  twelve  hours 
a  day :  for  he  who  studies  with  an  active  mind  will 
learn  more  in  a  few  minutes,  than  another,  study 
ing  passively  and  idly,  will  gain  in  an  hour. 
What  Parker  knew,  he  knew ;  and  he  knew  that 
he  knew  it.  All  his  knowledge  lay  at  hand,  ac 
cessible,  like  the  tools  of  an  orderly  workman. 

But  the  scholarship  and  knowledge  of  Theodore 
Parker  made  but  the  beginning  of  his  intellectual 
work.  He  was  an  original  thinker.  Very  early 
addicted  to  metaphysical  pursuits,  he  never  relin 
quished  his  taste  for  them.  In  philosophy,  he  be 
longed  to  that  school  of  thinkers  who  are  called 
Transcendentalists:  who  believe  that  man,  as 


God's~c7iild,  receives  an  inheritance  of  jdeas  from 
within  ;  that  he  knowj^  by  insight ;  that  he  has 
intuitions  of  truth,  which  furnish  the  highest  evi 
dence  of  IHe  reality  of  the  soul,~oT  (jrod~,  of  duty, 

of  immortalityT He  joined,  not"  ""doubtfully,  but 

with  most  earnest  conviction,  that  great  company 
of  ideal  philosophers,  at  whose  head  stands  the 
divine  Plato,  and  in  whose  generous  ranks  are  the 
chief est  intellects  of  the  race,  —  Socrates  and  Py 
thagoras,  Epictetus  and  Antoninus,  Plotinus  and 
Jamblichus,  Erigena  and  Anselm,  Descartes  and 
Liebnitz,  Cudworth  and  Henry  More,  Pascal  and 
Kant,  Cousin  and  Schleiermacher.  But  his  chief 
powers  he  consecrated  to  theology,  which  he  justly 


122  THEODORE  PARKER. 

regarded  as  the  queen  of  the  sciences.  It  has  be 
come  the  fashion  with  many,  in  these'  days,  to  un 
dervalue  both  philosophy  and  theology,  and  to  con 
sider  them  as  idle  and  empty  studies,  leading  to 
no  practical  results  ;  while  the  arts  and  sciences, 
natural  philosophy,  the  knowledge  of  external 
things,  social  questions,  humanities,  philanthro 
pies,  and  reforms,  are  the  only  really  solid  and 
valuable  studies.  Not  so  thought  Theodore  Par 
ker.  Pie  knew,  as  well  as  any,  how  empty  is  a 
great  deal  that  is  called  theology  ;  but  he  also 
knew  that  every  man  has,  and  must  have,  a  phi 
losophy  and  theology,  true  or  false.  He  knew  that 
every  man's  philosophy  underlies  his  theology, 
and  that  his  theology  underlies  all  his  practice. 
He  knew  that  theological  reform  must  precede 
all  other  reform  ;  that  as  one  thinks  of  God  and 
God's  character,  so  will  he  form  his  own.  He 
knew  that,  while  God  is  regarded  as  partial,  will 
ful,  and  revengeful,  man  will  continue  to  be  par 
tial,  willful,  and  revengeful  too. 

Until  our  theology  becomes  Christian,  we  can 
have  no  Christian  morality  nor  Christian  ethics. 

/  Those    who   believe   that    G"d_  JiajL  Jbr£orfl  ai  n  ftd 
some  human  souls  to  an  eternal  hell  hereafter,  can 

(    very  easily  "EeTieve  that  he  has  onlamed  some  hu 
man  races  to  be  slaves  forever  heffe!     Those  who 


think  that  God  is  fulj^pf  wrath"~~againsfc  his  ene- 
mies  will  consider^  Jt  right  themselves  to  be  filled 
with  wrath  against  theirs.  Therefore,  Theodore 


THEODORE  PARKER.  123 

Parker  drove  the  deep  subsoil  plough  of  a  sound 
theology  under  the  roots  of  a  false  morality  and 
ethics.  And,  when  I  say  a  sound  theology,  I  re 
fer  especially  to  his  doctrine  of  God,  —  to  theol 
ogy,  strictly  so  called ;  for  his  views  here  were 
mostly  noble  and  admirable.  His  Christology, 
or  doctrine  of  Christ,  I  think  defective  ;  and  his 
Anthropology,  or  doctrine  of  man,  defective  too, 
in  important  particulars.  He  ascribed  too  abso 
lute  moral  power  to  the  human  will ;  he  did  not 
enough  recognize  the  element  of  evil  which  comes 
to  us  from  the  solidarity  of  the  race,  —  inherited 
from  behind,  and  caught  by  contagion  from  around. 
He  regarded  sin  as  always  and  strictly  a  self-orig- 
inated  disease  ;  never  as  a  contagious  epidemic,  or 
as  "ail  inlierTted  tendency.  And  all  which  to  me 
seem  his  mistakes,  theoretical  and  practical,  had 
their  root  here. 

There  was  also  in  the  mind  of  Theodore  a  po 
etic  quality  to  which  he  never  did  justice.  Imag 
ination  is  too  spontaneous  a  faculty  to  thrive  in  a 
brain  which  is  driven  forward  in  the  direction  of 
constant  work  by  so  energetic  a  will.  His  friend 
William  Henry  Charming,  writes  :  "  Once  I  re 
member  telling  him  that  his  grand  mistake  was 
this  concentrated  unity  of  purpose.  He  was  really 
richer  in  impulse,  imagination,  sympathy,  and  va 
ried  power,  than  he  knew  himself  to  be,  or  allowed 
himself  to  be." 

The   active   element   in  Theodore  Parker  was 


124  THEODORE  PARKER. 

very  predominant.  It  went  always  abreast,  at 
least,  with  the  speculative.  He  studied  and  spec 
ulated  in  order  to  act.  He  was  a  worker  in  the 
world ;  was  here  to  do  something,  not  merely  to 
think  something.  Hence  his  interest  in  all  re 
forms,  in  all  social  progress,  in  all  which  tends  to 
deepen  and  heighten  human  culture.  Before  him, 
his  life  lay  planned  out  like  a  chart ;  and  his  work 
was  arranged  beforehand  for  every  year.  Indeed, 
his  intense  activity,  as  I  just  said,  'seemed  often 
to  weaken  or  repress  his  intellectual  power  ;  for 
thought  needs  a  resting-time  to  ripen.  Too  con 
stant  action  impairs  the  sweep  and  strength  of  the 
intellect.  Especially  is  the  imagination,  that  airy 
faculty,  cramped  by  too  energetic  a  will.  It  can 
only  spread  its  wings  when  allowed  perfect  liberty 
and  choice  of  its  own  time. 

But  what  an  amount  of  work  did  our  brother 
do,  with  tongue  as  a  speaker,  with  pen  as  a  writer, 
with  hand  as  a  helper.  First,  as  a  preacher  and 
lecturer,  he  stood  unrivaled  in  the  rare  gift  of 
making  popular  and  interesting  to  thousands  the 
results  of  systematic  philosophy  and  theology. 
Before  a  crowd  collected  to  be  entertained  by  his 
wit,  pointed  comments,  and  sharp  criticism,  on  the 
persons  and  things  around  them,  he  did  not  avoid 
an  almost  scholastic  discussion  of  first  principles ; 
a  careful  analysis  of  conduct,  character,  morality ; 
large  generalizations,  systematic  and  exhaustive 
distributions.  Hour  after  hour,  the  great  audience 


THEODORE  PARKER.  125 

would  listen  ;  held  by  the  thread  of  a  masterly 
and  clear  argument ;  enlivened  indeed,  not  infre 
quently,  by  flashes  of  wit,  and  touches  of  poetic 
description.  But,  if  he  entertained  and  amused 
them,  he  did  not  have  that  for  his  end,  but  merely 
for  one  of  his  means.  His  end  was  to  revolution- 
ize  public  opinion  ;jbo  beat  down,  by  terrible  blows 
of  logic  and  satire,  the  cool  defenders  of  inhuman 
wrong ;  to  pour  floods  of  fiery  invective  upon 
those  who  opposed  themselves"  to  the  progress  of 
a  great  cause  ;  to  fill  all  minds  "with  a  sense  6T~re- 
sponsibility  to  God  for  the  use  of  their  faculties  ; 
to  show  the  needs  of  suffering  man  ;  to  call  at 
tention  to  the  degraded  classes ;  to  raise  up  those 
who  are  bowed  down,  and  to  break  every  yoke. 
He  also  came  in  the  spirit  and  power  of  Elijah. 
He  was  ready  to  denounce  the  Ahabs  and  Herods 
of  our  day,  the  hard-money  kings  of  a  commercial 
city,  the  false  politicians  whose  lying  tongue  is  al 
ways  waiting  to  deceive  the  simple.  His  fiery  in 
dignation  at  wrong  showed  itself,  in  the  most  ter 
rible  invectives  which  modern  literature  knows, 
against  the  kidnappers,  the  pro-slavery  politicians, 
the  pro-slavery  priests,  and  the  slave-catching 
commissioners.  These  invectives  were  sometimes 
cruel  and  severe;  in  the  spirit  of  Moses,  David, 
and  John  the  Baptist,  rather  than  in  that  of 
Christ.  Such  extreme  severity,  whether  in  Jew 
or  Christian,  defeats  its  own  object ;  for  it  is  felt 
to  be  excessive  and  unjust.  I  cannot  approve  of 


126  THEODORE  PARKER. 

Theodore  Parker's  severity.  I  consider  it  false, 
because  extravagant ;  unjust,  because  indiscrim 
inate  ;  unchristian,  because  relentless  and  unsym- 
pathizing.  But  then  I  will  remember  how  bit 
terly  he  was  pursued  by  his  opponents;  how 
Christians  offered  prayers  in  their  meetings,  that 
he  might  be  taken  away  ;  how  the  leaders  of 
opinion  in  Boston  hated  and  reviled  him  ;  how 
little  he  had,  from  any  quarter,  of  common  sym 
pathy  or  common  charity.  I  cannot  wonder  at 
his  severity  ;  but  I  cannot  think  it  wise.  Being 
so  great,  I  wish  he  had  been  greater.  Being  so 
loving  to  his  friends,  I  wish  he  could  also  have 
felt  less  bitterjscorn  toward  his  opponents. 

Together  with  his  work  as  a  preacher,  he  did  a 
great  work  as  lecturer  and  platform-speaker  ;  and, 
in  addition  to  this,  another  great  work  as  writer. 
Book  after  book,  pamphlet  after  pamphlet,  issued 
from  his  busy  brain  and  pen.  I  think,  if  any 
where,  he  failed  intellectually  here,  —  in  a  too 
great  rapidity  of  production.  His  early  writings 
are  much  more  rich  and  full  than  his  later  ones. 
His  "Discourse  on  Religion"  —  his  first  printed 
book  —  remains  his  best  one.  He  did  not  give 
himself  time  to  xgo  down  as  deeply  as  he  might, 
and  to  meditate  as  fully  as  he  might,  before  he 
printed.  But  his  writings  were  read  by  tens 
of  thousands  throughout  America  and  Europe. 
Every  one  in  the  land  knew  him.  To  the  farthest 
prairies  of  the  West,  to  the  remotest  corner  of 


THEODORE  PARKER.  127 

England,  his  writings  have  penetrated.  They 
were  translated  into  different  European  languages. 
So  he  did  the  full  work  of  three  men,  —  first  as  a 
preacher,  then  as  a  lecturer  and  platform-speaker, 
and  last  as  a  writer. 

As  a  preacher,  I  think,  he  was  wanting  in  the 
perception  and  utterance  of  some  of  the  truths  of 
the  gospel,  but  he  did  an  immense  good  to  thou 
sands  by  his  splendid  utterances  in  behalf  of  right, 
justice,  and  good.  He  denounced  wrong  as  no 
others  denounced  it ;  he  appealed  to  the  sense  of 
responsibility  as  no  others  ;  he  called  upon  the 
religious  element  in  the  soul  to  assert  itself  against 
all  that  is  selfish,  worldly,  and  sensual  in  man. 
Thousands  were  roused  by  him  to  see  what  life 
was  for,  —  what  only  makes  it  really  life.  It  is 
not  necessary  for  every  man  to  preach  every  part 
of  the  gospel,  in  order  to  do  good.  Having  gifts 
differing  according  to  the  grace  given  them,  men 
are  called  to  preach  according  to  the  proportion 
of  their  own  faith. 

When  Paul  preached  to  Felix,  he  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  say  anything  about  the  doctrine 
of  reconciliation  by  Christ.  He  preached  "  right 
eousness,  temperance,  and  judgment  to  come ; " 
and  "Felix  trembled."  No  one  can  deny  that 
Theodore  Parker  made  many  a  Felix  tremble  by 
precisely  the  same  sort  of  preaching ;  and  I  think 
that  the  Master  will  admit,  that,  though  not  doing 
all  the  work  to  be  done  in  the  vineyard,  he  faith- 


128  THEODORE  PARKER. 

fully  and  nobly  did  the  work  which  God,  by  the 
sincere  convictions  of  his  soul,  had  given  to  him 
to  do.  *'  Care  is  taken,"  says  Goethe,  "  that  trees 
shall  not  grow  up  to  heaven  ; "  and  God  does  not 
mean  nor  require  that  every  man  shall  do  every 
thing.  He  asks  us  only  to  be  faithful  to  our  own 
duty,  which  is  determined  by  our  own  insight  and 
conviction. 

But  head  and  hand  alone,  without  heart,  cannot 
make  real  greatness.  There  must  be  warm  devo 
tion  to  some  person  or  to  some  cause,  there  must 
be  affection,  there  must  be  love  constantly  pour 
ing  life  into  the  intellect  and  will,  else  the  intel 
lect  freezes  into  mere  formality,  and  the  will  hard 
ens  into  mere  habit  or  dead  routine. 

Theodore  Parker's  soul  was  a  loving  soul.  He 
was  born  with  enthusiasm  for  the  True,  the  Beau 
tiful,  and  the  Good ;  and  the  secret  of  his  power 
over  men  was,  that  he  was  able  to  retain  to  the 
last  this  enthusiasm.  They  saw  in  him  one  man, 
who,  though  a  great  intellect,  could  yet  love  and 
adore  ;  who,  though  a  great  practical  worker,  could 
feel  tenderly  all  human  woes  and  wrongs.  There 
fore  they  gave  him  their  hearts,  and  were  willingly 
led  by  his  genius  and  commanding  thought. 

He  was  a  man  of  warm  feeling ;  a  man  of  ten 
der  sympathy ;  a  man  who  felt  as  sincerely  for  the 
sufferings  of  a  poor  Irish  laborer,  or  a  poor  drunk 
ard,  or  a  deserted  child,  as  he  did  for  the  great 
cause  of  human  progress.  The  humblest  never 


THEODORE  PARKER.  129 

appealed  to  his  sympathy  in  vain.  How  often 
have  I  heard  of  his  interest  in  one  or  another 
unfortunate  !  —  some  exiled  foreigners,  some  poor 
widows,  some  orphan  children.  His  time,  though 
so  precious,  was  at  the  service  of  any  forlorn  vaga 
bond  and  outcast ;  and  I  think  that  He  who  said, 
"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of 
these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me,"  will 
prefer  this  practical  obedience  to  his  command, 
and  sympathy  with  his  spirit,  to  the  most  Ortho 
dox  confession  which  Theodore  might  have  made. 
The  friends  whom  Parker  loved,  he  loved  with 
his  whole  heart.  He  loved  them  as  Jonathan 
loved  David  ;  his  love  for  them  was  wonderful, 
passing  the  love  of  woman.  A  word  of  kindness, 
an  act  of  good-will,  was  never  forgotten  by  him. 
His  noble  soul  opened  itself  to  affection  like  the 
blossoming  apple-tree  to  the  balmy  sunshine  in 
this  early  June.  His  sympathy  with  humanity 
inspired  his  flaming  and  ardent  zeal  for  the  op 
pressed  everywhere ;  and  as,  in  our  land,  the  col 
ored  man  is  the  most  oppressed  of  all,  therefore 
he  felt  most  keenly  his  wrongs,  and  labored  most 
zealously  for  him.  Cold-hearted  and  selfish  poli 
ticians,  who  think  that  to  get  office  is  the  only 
motive  in  politics,  could  not  understand  this.  His 
whole  heart,  as  well  as  his  whole  reason  and  con 
science,  were  in  the  cause  of  suffering  and  enslaved 
man;  and  for  this  that  noble  heart  throbbed  to 
the  end. 


130  THEODORE  PARKER. 

This  loving  heart,  which  glowed  with  such  de 
voted  and  steadfast  affection  for  his  friends,  which 
burned  with  such  ardent  interest  for  the  sufferers 
everywhere,  could  not  be,  and  was  not,  wanting  in 
the  highest  type  of  love.  It  rose  through  friend 
ship  to  humanity,  through  humanity  to  piety. 
Having  loved  his  brother  whom  he  had  seen,  how 
could  he  not  love  also  the  invisible  but  ever-pres 
ent  Father  of  us  all?  His  piety  was  tender,  filial, 
reverential ;  devout  as  that  of  Pascal,  St.  Bernard, 
or  Madame  Guyon.  It  was  an  instinct  of  adora 
tion  for  infinite  beauty  and  perfect  love.  Those 
who  blamed  his  irreverent  speech  toward  the  out 
side  of  religion,  toward  the  letter  of  the  Bible, 
toward  the  sacraments  of  worship,  little  knew 
how  tender  and  deep  was  his  reverence  toward 
the  Great  Father,  whom  he  also  loved  to  call  the 
Mother,  —  Father  and  Mother  of  all  men. 

In  looking  for  some  illustration  of  this  strangely 
exuberant  and  varied  genius,  I  have  recalled,  as 
its  best  emblem,  a  day  I  once  passed  in  crossing 
the  St.  Gothard  Mountain,  from  Italy  into  Ger 
many.  In  the  morning,  we  were  among  Italian 
nightingales  and  the  sweet  melody  of  the  Italian 
speech.  The  flowers  were  all  in  bloom,  and  the 
air  balmy  with  summer  perfumes  from  vine  and 
myrtle.  But,  as  we  slowly  climbed  the  mountain, 
we  passed  away  from  this,  —  first  into  vast  forests 
of  pine,  and  then  out  upon  broad  fields  of  snow, 
where  winter  avalanches  were  falling  in  thunder 


THEODORE  PARKER.  131 

from  above.  And  so,  at  noon,  we  reached  the 
summit,  and  began  to  descend,  till  we  again  left 
the  snow ;  and  so  rode  continually  downward  on 
a  smooth  highway,  but  through  terrible  ravines, 
over  rushing  torrents,  into  dark  gorges,  where  the 
precipices  almost  met  overhead,  and  the  tormented 
river  roared  far  below;  and  so  on  and  on,  hour 
after  hour,  till  we  came  down  into  the  green  and 
sunny  valleys  of  Canton  Uri,  and  passed  through 
meadows  where  men  were  mowing  the  hay,  and 
the  air  was  fragrant,  not  now  with  Southern  vines, 
but  with  the  Northern  apple-blossoms.  Here  we 
heard  all  around  us  the  language  of  Germany ; 
and  then  we  floated  on  the  enchanting  lake  of  the 
Four  Cantons,  and  passed  through  its  magnificent 
scenery,  till  we  reached,  at  dark,  the  old  city  of 
Lucerne.  This  wonderful  day,  in  its  variety,  is  a 
type  to"  me  of  the  career  of  our  brother.  His 
youth  was  full  of  ardor  and  hope,  full  of  imagina 
tion  and  poetic  dreams,  full  of  studies  in  ancient 
and  romantic  lore.  It  was  Italian  and  classic. 
Then  came  the  struggling  ascent  of  the  mountain, 
—  the  patient  toil  and  study  of  his  early  man 
hood  ;  then  the  calm  survey  of  the  great  fields  of 
thought  and  knowledge,  spreading  widely  around 
in  their  majestic  repose,  and  of  the  holy  heavens 
above  his  head,  —  the  sublimities  of  religion,  the 
pure  mountain  air  of  devout  thought  and  philo 
sophic  insight ;  and  then  came  the  rapid  progress, 
on  and  on,  from  this  high  summit  of  lonely  specu- 


132  THEODORE  PARKER. 

lation,  down  into  the  practice  and  use  of  life, — 
down  among  the  philanthropies  and  humanities 
of  being,  —  down  from  the  solitary,  serene  air 
of  lonely  thought,  through  terrible  ravines  and 
broken  precipices  of  struggling  reform ;  by  the 
roaring  stream  of  progress,  where  the  frozen  ava 
lanche  of  conservative  opposition  falls  in  thunder 
to  crush  the  advancing  traveler ;  and  so,  on  and 
on,  into  the  human  homes  of  many-speaking  men, 
among  low  cottages,  along  the  road  the  human 
being  travels,  and  by  which  blessing  comes  and 
goes,  —  the  road  which  follows  — 

"  The  river's  course,  the  valley's  peaceful  windings, 
Curves  round  the  cornfield  and  the  hill  of  vines ; 
And  so,  secure,  though  late,  reaches  its  end." 

Out  of  classic,  Roman-Catholic,  mediaeval  Italy, 
into  Protestant  Germany;  out  of  the  land  of 
organization  and  authority  into  the  land  of  indi 
vidual  freedom ;  out  of  the  historic  South,  inherit 
ing  all  treasures  of  the  past,  into  the  enthusiastic, 
hopeful,  progressive  North,  inspired  with  all  the 
expectations  of  the  future,  —  such  was  the  course 
and  progress  of  his  earthly  day.  A  long  life, 
though  closed  at  fifty  years ;  as  that  day  on  the 
St.  Gothard  seemed  to  us  already  three  days,  long 
before  sundown. 

And  now,  after  this  survey,  I  must  conclude 
him  to  have  been  a  really  great  man  ;  because  de 
ficient  in  none  of  the  elements  which  constitute 
greatness.  A  great  intellect  was  in  him  directed 


THEODORE  PARKER.  133 

by  a  great  will  toward  an  aim  given  by  a  great 
heart.  The  heart  of  love  poured  life  into  his 
thoughts  and  actions.  His  is  a  name  to  stand 
always  high  in  the  catalogue  of  New-England 
worthies ;  and,  as  long  as  Benjamin  Franklin  is 
remembered,  Theodore  Parker  will  not  be  forgot 
ten.  No  monument  will  be  erected  to  his  mem 
ory  at  Mount  Auburn  ;  at  least,  not  in  our  day  ; 
but  very  probably  the  grandchildren  of  those  who 
condemned  him  most  may  call  on  our  grandchil 
dren  to  subscribe  for  his  statue,  or  to  take  tickets 
for  the  centennial  celebration  of  his  birthday. 

I  am  reminded  of  the  saying  of  Jesus  concern 
ing  John  the  Baptist,  in  which  the  Saviour  seems 
to  excuse  the  harshness  and  rudeness  of  his  pre 
cursor,  on  the  ground  that  such  a  work  as  he  had 
to  do  required  a  man  whose  faults  would  lie  in 
that  direction.  A  civil  and  smooth-spoken  gen 
tleman,  a  man  of  proprieties,  would  not  have 
drawn  the  multitudes  into  the  wilderness  to  hear 
their  sins  denounced  and  their  wickedness  con 
demned.  Nor  would  such  an  orator  have  gathered 
crowds  into  the  Music  Hall.  Theodore  was  the 
John  the  Baptist  of  our  day,  —  the  prophet  of  a 
transition  state,  when  the  law  had  ended,  but  the 
gospel  only  just  begun.  He  belonged  to  the  pe 
riod  when  the  kingdom  of  God  is  taken  by  vio 
lence.  He  was  not  a  reed  shaken  by  the  wind, 
nor  a  man  clothed  in  soft  raiment ;  but  he  was  one 
of  those  whom  the  times  require,  and  who,  if  es- 


134  THEODORE  PARKER. 

sentially  different,  could  not  do  their  work.  And 
as  Jesus  apologized  for  John,  and  excused  his 
harshness,  on  the  ground  that  such  a  character 
was  required  for  such  a  work,  so  I  doubt  not, 
that,  if  our  brother  failed  in  the  same  way,  it  was 
for  the  same  reason  ;  and  I  think  that  our  Master 
will  make  for  him  the  same  excuse. 

And  now  he  has  gone  !  That  brain  filled  with 
the  last  results  and  discoveries  of  the  French, 
English,  and  German  intellect,  has  gone !  We 
can  no  more  turn  into  Exeter  Place  to  consult 
that  encyclopaedia.  That  great  worker,  who  could 
swim  steadily  abreast  of  the  rising  tide  of  events, 
keeping  always  on  its  topmost  wave,  always  hav 
ing  his  word  ready  for  the  hour  and  for  each  event 
of  the  hour,  has  gone  to  sleep  under  the  blue  Tuscan 
sky.  His  dust  mingles  with  that  of  the  men  of 
many  ages,  —  with  the  Oscans  and  Latins,  with 
the  Tarquins  and  old  Etruscan  chiefs,  with  Ro 
man  consuls  and  Roman  orators,  with  Carthage- 
nian  invaders  from  Africa,  with  Keltic  invaders 
from  Gaul,  with  Ciinbri  and  Greek,  with  Ostro 
goth  and  Lombard,  with  mediaeval  monks  and 
doctors,  with  the  dust  of  St.  Francis,  Dante, 
Michael  Angelo,  Petrarch,  and  Tasso.  And,  if 
he  may  not  rest  in  Santa  Croce  with  the  illus 
trious  dead  of  Florence,  neither  is  Dante  there, 
nor  Savonarola.  The  kindred  dust  of  the  great 
Italian  reformer  was  dispersed  in  flame  on  that 
Cathedral  Square,  near  which  our  brother's  re- 


THEODORE  PARKER.  135 

mains  repose.  Let  him  sleep  there  after  life's 
fevered  task,  our  New-England  cosmopolite,  in 
that  cosmopolitan  society,  —  in  that  soil  made  up 
of  the  dust  of  men  of  all  races,  all  creeds,  and  all 
characters.  But  we  in  Boston  shall  often  miss 
him.  When  that  great  Hall  shall  stand  silent 
and  empty,  Sunday  after  Sunday  ;  when  plausible 
rhetoricians  utter  their  sophisms  without  contra 
diction,  because  our  great  critic  is  not  here  to  an 
swer  them ;  when  great  national  crises  come  and 
go  unanalyzed,  because  he  is  not  here  with  his 
ever  ready  brain  and  well-filled  memory  to  give 
the  immediate  judgment  which  history  is  after 
ward  to  assign,  —  in  such  hours  as  these  we  shall 
remember  the  greatness  and  mourn  the  absence  of 
our  Boston  Socrate^ —  of  our  gift  of  God,  —  our 
TheodoreT" 


SAMUEL  GKIDLEY  HOWE. 


THE  CHIVALRY  OP  TO-DAY. 


ILLUSTRATED   IN  THE  LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 
OF  SAMUEL  G.  HowE.1 

AMONG  the  Romans,  courage  made  the  essence, 
of  all  virtue.  The  word  virtyj^jzx  manliij£sa,  or 
courage,  was  the  same  as  our  virtue. 

Courage  has  not  been  always  considered  a  vir 
tue  among  Christians.  Not  to  fight  but  to  submit, 
was  long  supposed  to  be  the  chief  duty  of  a  relig 
ious  man.  The  Christ  himself  was  supposed  to  be 
made  up  of  passive  virtues  —  patience,  submission, 
non-resistance,  meekness,  humility.  In  all  medi 
aeval  pictures,  he  was  represented  as  bowing  down 
his  head  like  a  bulrush ;  standing  mute  like  the 
sheep  that  is  sheared.  And  through  many  centu 
ries,  the  saint,  par  excellence,  was  the  man  who  re 
tired  from  the  world  and  its  evils  to  fast  and  pray, 
and  save  his  own  soul,  instead  of  remaining  in  tlie 
world  to  fight  with  its  evils,  to  resist  its  abuses, 
to  meet  falsehoods  in  battle  with  honest  argument, 

1  A  sermon  preached  to  the  Church  of  the  Disciples,  Bostoo, 
January  16,  1876. 


140  SAMUEL   GRIDLEY  HOWE. 

to  make  war  against  triumphant  and  powerful  vil 
lainy. 

Not  such  the  view  of  the  apostle  Paul.  To  him 
life  was  a  long  battle  for  right  against  wrong,  for 
freedom  against  slavery,  for  humanity  against  all 
that  would  harm  it.  "  Put  on  the  whole  armor, 
the  panoply,  of  God,"  says  he.  "  Fight  the  good 
fight  of  faith."  "  Take  the  helmet  of  salvation 
and  the  sword  of  the  Spirit."  "Stand  fast,  quit 
you  like  men,  be  strong."  "  Son  Timothy,  war  a 
good  warfare."  He  meant  every  blow  to  tell.  "  I 
do  not  fight  as  one  who  beats  the  air,"  said  he  ; 
when  he  struck,  he  struck  to  hit.  But  it  was  a 
moral  strife.  He  had  no  hostility  to  men,  except 
when  they  represented  principles.  "  We  wrestle 
not  against  flesh  and  blood,"  but  against  wrong 
principles,  against  evil  forces,  against  the  influ 
ences  which  darken  life,  against  triumphant  wick 
edness,  no  matter  how  highly  placed. 

Nor  was  the  goodness  of  Jesus  merely  or  mainly 
passive.  He  went  forth  from  the  quiet  air  of  his 
Nazarene  home  to  a  conflict  with  the  ruling  prin 
ciples  and  ideas  of  his  time.  The  Pharisees  were 
the  masters  of  the  nation's  mind,  the  guides  of 
public  opinion.  He  denounced  and  opposed  them. 
What  was  harder,  he  must  disappoint  all  the  ex 
pectations  of  the  people.  They  hated  the  Romans, 
with  their  soldiers  and  tax-gatherers.  He  went  to 
the  house  of  the  Roman  centurion  to  heal  his 
child  ;  he  made  a  Roman  tax-gatherer  one  of  his 


SAMUEL   GR1DLEY  HOWE.  141 

apostles.  They  hated  the  Samaritans  —  he  made 
a  Samaritan  the  hero  of  a  lovely  story.  They 
were  hungering  for  a  Messiah  who  should  lead 
them  against  the  Roman  power  —  he  told  them 
that  his  kingdom  was  not  of  this  world.  All  the 
virtues  of  Christ  were  active,  not  passive.  His 
love  was  active  love,  going  about  to  do  good.  His 
piety  was  practical  piety,  resisting  and  opposing 
all  formalism,  all  ceremonial  worship,  and  caUing 
on  men  to  worship  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 
The  life  of  Jesus  was  one  long  act  of  heroic  cour 
age. 

If  we  distinguish  between  the  essence  of  cour 
age  and  its  accidents,  we  shall  see  what  an  indis 
pensable  ingredient  it  is  in  all  goodness.  It  is  the 
power  which  makes  us  ready  to  encounter  difficul 
ties,  meet  opposition,  go  without  delay  or  hesita 
tion  to  each  duty,  attacking  every  task  of  life  as 
soon  as  it  presents  itself,  not  shirking  the  work  of 
to-day,  or  putting  it  off  till  to-morrow;  being 
ready  to  speak  the  truth,  whether  men  hear  or 
forbear ;  standing  by  our  convictions,  though  cus 
tom,  authority,  and  friendship  are  all  on  the  other 
side.  This  is  courage ;  and  without  it,  goodness  is 
a  sickly  plant,  virtue  a  pale  shadow,  religion  a  hol 
low  decorum,  exercising  no  influence  and  deserv 
ing  none. 

The  distinction  usually  made  is  between  physi 
cal  courage  and  moral  courage.  I  prefer  a  differ 
ent  classification.  I  should  make  three  kinds  of 


142  SAMUEL   GRIDLEY  HOWE. 

courage,  namely :  Personal  courage,  Moral  cour 
age,  Christian  courage. 

I  do  not  like  the  phrase,  "physical  courage," 
because  this  is  often  only  insensibility  to  danger. 
In  this  sense,  a  stone  would  have  more  courage 
than  a  brute  ;  a  brute  more  courage  than  a  man  ; 
a  coarse  and  brutal  man  more  courage  than  a  man 
of  thought  and  imagination.  But  insensibility, 
which  plunges  blindly  into  danger,  does  not  de 
serve  the  name  of  courage.  That  alone  is  true 
courage  which  sees  the  danger,  knows  all  the  risk 
it  must  run,  and  yet  is  willing  to  encounter  it. 
There  is  no  courage  in  risking  a  peril  to  which 
we  are  insensible.  If  a  man  can  truly  say,  "  I 
never  knew  what  fear  was,"  he  must  also  say, 
"  I  never  knew  what  courage  was."  The  capacity 
of  feeling  fear  is  essential  to  all  true  courage.  To 
feel  fear  and  rise  above  fear  —  that  is  what  we 
understand  by  courage. 

We  have  just  followed  to  his  grave  a  man  the 
like  of  whom  has  never  been  seen  in  New  Eng 
land.  In  him  were  united  the  qualities  of  Sir 
Launcelot  and  the  good  Samaritan.  He  was  not 
a  saint,  in  any  sense  of  the  word ;  but  he  was  in 
some  ways  better  than  a  saint,  perhaps  nearer  to 
Christ  than  most  saints.  He  had  his  faults,  no 
doubt ;  he  was  probably  far  from  perfect.  Per 
haps  his  strong  will  sometimes  made  him  despotic ; 
his  determination  may  have  made  him  intolerant 
of  the  tendencies  of  minds  different  from  his  own. 


SAMUEL   GRIDLEY  HOWE.  143 

According  to  the  common  definition,  he  was  not 
a  religious  man,  for  he  made  little  profession,  and 
cared  little  for  ceremonial  worship.  But  accord 
ing  to  the  definition  of  Jesus,  he  may  be  called  a 
citizen  of  Heaven :  "  Not  every  one  that  saith 
unto  me,  Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  king 
dom  of  Heaven  ;  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my 
Father,  who  is  in  Heaven."  But  even  if  I  were 
able  to  point  out  his  defects,  I  should  not  care  to 
do  so,  for  to  look  at  faults  seldom  does  us  good. 
What  does  us  the  most  good  is  to  see  the  noble 
qualities  of  others,  for  this  lifts  us  towards  a  bet 
ter  life. 

Samuel  Gridley  Howe,  then,  as  I  judge,  pos 
sessed  in  a  high  degree  all  the  three  kinds  of  cour 
age  of  which  I  have  spoken  ;  and  I  will  illus 
trate  them  all  by  the  story  of  his  life. 

Personal  courage  loves  danger  for  danger's  sake  ; 
not  because  it  is  insensible  to  it,  but  because  it 
enjoys  its  excitement  and  stimulus.  What  a 
strange  attraction  have  war  and  the  tumult  of 
battle  for  many  men  !  This  courage  of  the  battle 
field  is  shared  with  man  by  his  faithful  compan 
ion,  the  horse,  who  rushes  with  joy  into  the  thick 
of  the  fray  ;  not  from  insensibility  to  danger,  for 
he  is  a  timid  and  imaginative  creature,  but  be 
cause  he  is  lifted,  like  man,  above  all  fear,  by  the 
strange  fascination  of  the  battle-field.  Two  thou 
sand  years  ago  this  had  been  noticed  by  the  au 
thor  of  the  Book  of  Job ,  who  wrote  of  the  horse  : 


144  SAMUEL   GRID  LEY  HOWE. 

"  He  saith  among  the  trumpets  4  ha  !  ha  ! '  and 
smelleth  the  battle  afar  off." 

Dr.  Howe,  in  this  respect,  was  like  one  of  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table.  When  he  went  to 
Greece  to  fight  by  the  side  of  Byron ;  when  he 
risked  his  life  and  liberty  to  help  the  Poles  in 
their  insurrection  ;  when  he  stood  by  Lafayette  in 
the  streets  of  Paris  in  the  struggle  of  1830  ;  there 
was  mingled  with  his  sympathy  for  human  free 
dom,  something  also  of  the  "  gaudium  certaminis  " 
—  the  delightful  excitement  of  peril.  But  also 
there  was  the  conviction  that  in  each  case  there 
was  a  principle  at  stake,  and  that  here  was  the 
eternal  conflict  for  the  rights  of  man  ;  and  so  the 
personal  courage  of  the  knight  was  joined  with 
the  moral  courage  of  the  hero.  He  was  ready  to 
die,  but  only  in  a  good  cause  —  non  indecoro  pul- 
vqre  sordidum. 

This  marks  the  difference  between  personal 
courage  and  moral  courage.  Personal  courage 
gives  the  joy  of  conflict ;  moral  courage  adds  to 
this  a  deeper  'joy,  the  satisfaction  of  fighting  for 
truth,  justice,  freedom,  humanity.  It  also  enlarges 
the  sphere  of  the  battle ;  lifting  it  to  the  vast  field 
where  principles  of  truth  and  falsehood  contend  in 
the  grand  struggle  of  reason  with  reason.  And 
so,  when  the  antislavery  controversy  began  in 
this  country,  it  was  easy  to  see  where  Dr.  Howe 
would  be.  With  his  friends,  John  G.  Palfrey, 
Horace  Mann,  Charles  Sumner,  Theodore  Parker, 


SAMUEL   GRIDLEY  HOWE.  145 

John  A.  Andrew,  Frank  Bird,  and  others  like 
them,  his  heart,  voice,  pen,  purse,  hand,  were 
always  given  to  the  cause  of  the  slave.  How 
much  he  did  in  that  cause  few  can  tell,  for  he 
was  a  man  who  never  spoke  of  his  own  past  ef 
forts  or  achievements.  But  it  was  always  well 
understood  that  if  any  help  was  needed  in  that 
cause,  Dr.  Howe  could  be  relied  upon.  I  only  saw 
Captain  John  Brown  twice  —  once  in  Charles 
Sumner's  room  on  Hancock  Street.  The  other  time 
it  happened  thus :  I  met  Dr.  Howe  in  the  street 
one  day,  and  he  said,  "  Captain  John  Brown  — 
Ossawattomie  Brown  —  is  in  my  office.  He  has  a 
plan  in  view,  and  if  you  would  like  to  help  him,  he 
will  tell  you  something  about  it."  I  went  to  the 
office,  and  Captain  Brown  was  there  alone.  He 
described  to  me  what  he  had  done  in  Missouri, 
carrying  away  slaves  from  the  frontier  through 
Kansas  and  Nebraska,  and  said,  "  I  intend  doing 
the  same  thing,  on  a  larger  scale,  elsewhere ;  but 
where,  and  how,  I  keep  to  myself.  My  idea  is  to 
destroy  the  value  of  slave  property  along  the  bor 
der,  and  so  drive  slavery  South."  If  John  Brown, 
or  any  one  else,  had  a  blow  to  strike  for  human 
ity,  he  knew  that  he  had  an  ally  always  ready  in 
Dr.  Howe. 

But  there  is  a  third  kind  of  courage  which  car 
ries  the  soul  up  still  higher.     I  call  it  Christian 
courage,  because  Jesus  Christ  possessed  it  in  the 
highest  degree.     It  is  the  courage  which  enables  a 
10 


146  SAMUEL   GR1DLEY  HOWE. 

man  to  attempt  the  cure  of  the  worst  forms  of 
human  suffering  and  sin,  believing  that  he  can 
overcome  them.  Jesus  Christ  made  himself  the 
physician  to  cure  the  worst  diseases  of  the  race. 
He  had  the  courage  to  attack  all  evil,  believing 
that  he  could  put  under  his  feet  all  enemies. 

Social  science,  as  popularly  taught  now,  teaches 
"the  survival  of  the  fittest."  Its  theory  is  that 
the  law  of  progress  consists  in  the  death  of  the 
weak  and  sickly,  and  the  survival  of  the  healthy 
and  strong.  According  to  this  view,  the  best  thing 
that  can  happen  is  for  all  the  feeble  in  mind  and 
body  to  die  as  soon  as  possible,  and  only  the  best 
endowed  natures  to  remain  to  continue  their  race. 
The  logic  of  this  system  would  seem  to  be  that 
any  one  who  provides  hospitals  for  the  sick,  asy 
lums  for  the  insane,  houses  of  reformation  for  the 
vicious,  is  really  an  enemy  to  human  progress,  by 
keeping  in  existence  those  who  had  better  be  out 
of  the  way. 

The  Christian  theory  teaches  an  exactly  oppo 
site  view.  It  says,  "  If  one  member  suffer,  all 
suffer."  It  regards  the  human  race  as  one  body, 
and  declares  that  the  body  can  only  be  in  health 
when  every  part  is  in  health.  In  its  large  phi 
losophy  it,  indeed,  encourages  every  attempt  at 
making  the  good  better,  the  wise  wiser,  the 
healthy  more  healthy ;  but  its  own  special  work 
is  to  raise  the  fallen,  heal  the  diseased,  help  the 
weak,  teach  the  ignorant.  This  was  the  sign 


SAMUEL   GRILLE Y  HOWE.  147 

which  Jesus  gave  to  those  who  wished  to  know 
if  he  were  the  Messiah ;  that  the  blind  received 
their  sight,  the  lame  walked,  the  lepers  were 
cleansed,  the  deaf  heard,  the  dumb  spake,  the  dead 
were  raised  up,  and  that  good  news  had  come  for 
the  poor. 

To  attempt  this  kind  of  work  requires  the  high 
est  kind  of  courage  of  all.  And  this  is  the  work  to 
which  Dr.  Howe  devoted  the  last  forty  years  of  his 
life  in  Boston.  He  made  himself  —  with  all  his 
high  gifts,  his  rare  accomplishments,  his  knightly 
courage  —  the  servant  of  the  blind,  of  the  idiots, 
the  slaves,  of  the  most  friendless  and  the  most  for 
lorn.  And  I  cannot  but  think  that  such  a  life  and 
such  labors  must  do  more  to  carry  humanity  for 
ward  than  efforts  exerted  at  the  other  end  of  the 
scale.  There  is  an  inspiration  about  such  gener 
osity  as  this  which  kindles  a  similar  enthusiasm, 
and  adds  to  the  motive  power  of  mankind.  The 
real  progress  of  man  consists  in  giving  him  more 
soul;  and  how  many  souls  have  been  quickened 
bythe  work  of  our  dead  hero,  who  can  tell  ? 

One  instance  I  happened  to  hear  of,  indirectly, 
from  a  Western  gentleman  whom  I  once  met. 
He  told  me  that  a  young  woman,  one  of  Dr. 
Howe's  teachers  in  the  School  for  the  Feeble 
Minded,  went  out  to  Ohio  and  took  charge  of  a 
similar  school  just  established  in  the  capital  of 
that  State.  Her  salary,  paid  by  the  State,  was 
only  $300 ;  but  she  refused  the  offer  of  twice  that 


148  SAMUEL   GR1DLEY  HOWE. 

sum  to  go  and  teach  a  private  school  in  Ken 
tucky,  saying  "  that  they  could  easily  find  others 
to  go  there,  but  she  was  afraid  no  one  else  would 
come  to  take  care  of  her  idiots."  When  this  con 
duct  of  hers  came  to  be  known,  members  of  the 
Legislature,  before  indifferent  to  the  school,  became 
interested  in  it,  and  one  of  them,  who  had  been 
converted  from  infidelity  to  some  faith  in  God  by 
reading  one  of  Theodore  Parker's  books,  led  the 
way  in  securing  a  good  appropriation  for  the 
school.  So  these  two  friends,  Dr.  Howe  and  The 
odore  Parker,  reached  hands  to  each  other  in  Ohio, 
and,  ignorant  of  it  themselves,  kindled  a  flame  of 
generous  faith  in  God  and  man  in  that  region. 

"  How  far  that  little  candle  sends  its  beams ! 
So  shines  a  good  deed  in  this  naughty  world." 

In  this  church,  at  Dr.  Howe's  funeral,  last  Thurs 
day,  was  Laura  Bridgman,  mourning  him  who  had 
come  to  her,  when  she,  poor  child,  was  shut  into 
that  dismal  prison  of  fourfold  darkness,  to  bring 
her  into  the  light  of  knowledge.  There  she  sat, 
with  wisdom  at  five  entrances  quite  shut  out  — 
eyes,  ears,  taste,  smell,  speech,  all  paralyzed. 
What  courage  it  required  to  attack  such  a  prob 
lem  !  What  faith,  what  hope,  what  confidence  in 
the  powers  of  the  soul  ready  to  cooperate  with  his 
efforts;  what  patience,  what  ingenuity,  what  un 
tiring  industry  !  Tell  rne,  wise  man  of  this  world ! 
learned  doctor  of  social  science !  what  was  the  use 


SAMUEL   GRIDLEY  HOWE.  149 

of  it  all  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  better  to  ex 
pend  the  same  time  and  toil  on  some  healthy  soul 
in  a  healthy  body,  giving  a  grand  education  to  a 
perfectly  developed  genius  ?  Leave  out  the  prin 
ciple  of  Christianity,  which  makes  one  brother 
hood  of  us  all,  and  it  was  a  great  mistake  to 
squander  this  high  art  on  such  poor  material. 
But  no  !  it  was  an  immortal  soul,  sitting  in  that 
shadow  of  death,  and  when  he  lifted  her  up  and 
showed  to  her  a  little  of  the  wonder  and  beauty  of 
God's  world,  and  gave  her  language,  and  brought 
her  into  communion  with  her  race,  he  had  done 
enough  to  make  his  life  noble. 

Dickens,  in  his  "American  Notes,"  quotes 
largely  from  Howe's  account  of  this  case,  and 
says : — 

"  Well  may  this  gentleman  call  that  a  delightful  mo 
ment,  in  which  some  distant  promise  of  her  present  state 
gleamed  upon  the  darkened  mind  of  Laura  Bridgman. 
Throughout  his  life  the  recollection  of  that  moment  will 
be  to  him  a  source  of  pure,  unfailing  happiness  ;  nor  will 
it  shine  less  brightly  on  the  evening  of  his  days  of  noble 
usefulness. 

"  Ye  who  have  eyes  and  see  not,  ears  and  hear  not ; 
ye  who  are  the  hypocrites  of  sad  countenances,  learn 
healthy  cheerfulness  and  mild  contentment  from  the 
deaf  and  dumb  and  blind.  Self-elected  saints  with 
gloomy  brows,  this  sightless,  earless,  voiceless  child 
may  teach  you  lessons  you  will  do  well  to  follow.  Let 
that  poor  hand  of  hers  lie  gently  on  your  hearts,  for 


150  SAMUEL   GRILLE Y  HOWE. 

there  may  be  something  in  its  healing  akin  to  that  of 
the  great  Master." 

I  have  received  the  following  account  of  the  last 
visit  made  by  Dr.  Howe,  a  few  weeks  since,  to  the 
pupils  of  the  School  for  the  Feeble  Minded.  The 
teacher  of  the  female  department  thus  writes :  — 

"  At  his  last  visit  to  the  school,  on  Sunday  afternoon, 
about  four  weeks  ago,  the  doctor  seemed  more  genial 
and  interested  than  I  had  seen  him  before.  As  he  en 
tered  the  school-room  his  face  was  radiant  with  smiles. 
The  girls  were  singing  a  Sunday-school  song,  and  had 
commenced  the  chorus,  '  Hallelujah,  thine  be  the  glory, 
Revive  us  again  ! '  Surprised  at  his  sudden  appearance, 
I  was  about  to  rise  and  welcome  him,  but  he  motioned 
me  to  continue  playing,  and  he  joined  his  voice  with 
those  of  the  children,  beating  time  with  his  uplifted 
hand  until  the  close  of  the  strain.  Then,  turning  to 
the  children,  he  spoke  these  words  in  a  pleasant  but 
pathetic  voice :  '  I  am  glad  to  see  you  all,  looking  so 
well  and  happy.  I  hope  you  will  be  good  children. 
Learn  all  you  can.'  Then,  raising  his  right  hand,  and 
waving  it  towards  them  and  over  them,  he  said,  '  Good- 
by,  God  bless  you,  good-by.'  These  were  his  last 
words  to  the  school." 

The  teacher  adds :  — 

"The  scene  was  strangely  significant  and  touching. 
The  intense  earnestness  of  his  manner,  the  moment  of 
entrance,  as  the  children  were  singing  the  appeal,  '  Re 
vive  us  again,'  his  joining  in  the  singing,  his  final  bene 
diction,  all  seemed  prophetic,  and  we  felt  that  this  was 
the  last  visit  to  the  school.*' 


SAMUEL   GRIDLEY  HOWE.  151 

The  teacher  of  the  boys  says :  — 

'  "  He  came  in  so  quietly  that  I  was  not  aware  of  his 
presence  till  he  stood  among  us.  Then,  after  his  usual 
kind  word  to  myself,  came  that  tone  of  voice  and  ex 
pression  of  eye  we  have  all  learned  to  know  so  well, 
with  which  he  said,  '  Are  you  good  children  ? '  I  told 
him  we  all  missed  him  very  much,  and  his  lips  quivered 
as  he  said  softly,  as  if  to  himself,  *  Poor  children,  it  is 
little  I  can  do  for  you.'  Then,  going  suddenly  amongst 
them,  he  patted  the  heads  and  cheeks  of  the  little  ones, 
and  stretched  out  his  hand  over  them  as  a  benediction, 
feebly  uttering  the  words,  '  Be  good  children,  be  good.' 
This  was  our  last  remembrance  of  Dr.  Howe.  The 
children  were  silent;  but  in  that  deep  hush  there  came 
an  awe,  as  though  they  had  looked  upon  the  face  of  the 
dead.  We  realized  that  this  was  his  final  farewell.  It 
was  very  sad  and  solemn,  but  very  sweet.  There  can 
be  no  monument  raised  to  his  memory  more  lasting  than 
will  be  his  remembrance  in  the  hearts  of  these  children." 

It  was  a  great  instance  of  courage,  of  chivalric 
courage,  to  go  from  Massachusetts  in  his  youth  to 
join  in  the  terrible  fight  for  Greece  against  the 
Turkish  barbarians,  where  the  mountains  looked 
on  Marathon,  and  Marathon  looked  on  the  sea. 
Surrounded  by  memories  of  old  heroic  days,  amid 
classic  scenes,  under  the  shadow  of  Parnassus, 
amid  the  hum  of  Hyblean  bees,  this  young  med 
ical  student  from  Boston  threw  his  arm  and  life 
into  the  arena.  It  was  noble  to  carry  help  to  the 
starving  Poles  in  their  desperate  struggle  against 


152  SAMUEL   GRID  LEY  HOWE. 

the  gigantic  power  of  Russia.  The  same  spirit 
led  him  in  after  days  to  go  again,  to  carry  help 
to  the  Isle  of  Crete,  and  to  take  part  in  the  at 
tempt  to  lift  the  people  of  San  Domingo  to  better 
fortunes.  But  was  the  courage  less,  or  was  it 
greater,  which  devoted  itself  to  the  rescue  of  the 
soul  of  Laura  Bridgman  and  Oliver  Caswell  ; 
which  plunged  into  the  darkness  of  the  mind  of 
the  poor  idiots  to  seek  to  give  them  light,  and 
which  led  the  blind  by  a  way  they  knew  not  into 
intelligence  and  a  happy  future  ?  To  me  it  seems 
that  his  last  work  was  far  greater  than  his  first, 
and  that  the  chivalry  of  his  youth  was  crowned  by 
the  diviner  and  more  gallant  endeavors  and  suc 
cesses  of  his  manhood  and  age. 

"  Would'st  know  him  now  ?     Behold  him 

The  Cadmus  of  the  blind, 
Giving  the  dumb  lip  language, 

The  idiot  clay  a  mind. 
Walking  his  round  of  duty 

Serenely,  day  by  day, 
With  the  strong  man's  hand  of  labor, 

And  childhood's  heart  of  play." 

So  active,  energetic,  industrious  was  this  man, 
that  he  made  a  part  in  all  the  best  activities  of 
his  time.  He  was  intimately  associated  with  La 
Fayette  and  Lamartine  in  European  republican 
ism,  with  Florence  Nightingale  in  the  care  for  the 
sick,  with  Charles  Sumner  in  the  reform  of  pris 
ons,  with  Horace  Mann  in  education,  with  John 


SAMUEL   GRID  LEY  HOWE.  153 

Andrew  in  the  war,  with  Dr.  Cabot  in  helping 
Kansas,  with  Henry  Wilson  in  organizing  the  free 
soil  party,  with  John  Brown  in  hostility  to  slavery, 
with  Dr.  Bellows  in  the  sanitary  commission,  with 
Owen  and  McKaye  in  labor  for  the  freedmen. 
And  when  he  was  seventy  years  old,  he  went  to 
San  Domingo  as  a  commissioner,  to  examine  the 
condition  of  that  island,  and  the  expediency  of 
annexing  the  Republic  to  the  United  States. 
There,  for  three  months,  he  endured  fatigues 
which  would  have  exhausted  younger  men,  and 
nothing  could  exceed  the  energy  and  judgment 
shown  by  him  in  his  extensive  tours  to  obtain 
information. 

The  lesson  of  this  life  is  fcr  us  all.  It  may  not 
be  given  to  us  to  fight  for  Greece,  or  Poland,  or 
France ;  to  help  Crete  or  San  Domingo ;  to  origi 
nate  and  carry  on  the  education  of  the  blind,  or 
that  of  the  idiots,  or  to  be  the  inspiration  of  a 
sleeping  soul,  wakening  it  to  life  and  light.  But 
the  spirit  in  which  he  lived  we  all  can  have.  We 
also  can  do  with  our  might  whatever  we  find  to 
do.  We  can  find  our  Greece  close  by  —  wherever 
any  man,  or  woman,  or  child,  or  lower  animal  is 
oppressed  by  superior  force.  Near  to  each  of  us 
are  those  who  need  our  aid,  as  Laura  Bridgman 
needed  his,  and  whom  we  can  help  by  opening 
the  blind  eyes,  and  leading  the  captive  soul  out 
of  its  prison  house.  We  may  not  have  that  lion 


154  SAMUEL   GRIDLEY  HOWE. 

mood,  that  iron  will,  that  fearless  blood,  that  in 
tense  eye,  that  unmeasured  power ;  but  we  also 
may  be  brethren  and  sisters  of  this  fellowship  of 
the  brave  and  true,  if  we  do  in  our  way  what  he 
did  in  his. 


VI. 
WILLIAM  ELLERT  CHANGING. 


WILLIAM   ELLERY   CHANNING.1 


WHEN,  twenty-five  years  ago  to-day,  the  hills 
of  Berkshire  stood  solemn  watchers  while  Chan- 
ning  breathed  his  last  breath  on  earth,  the  hearts 
of  all  noble  men  were  moved,  and  two  of  our  best 
poets  laid  laurel-wreaths  on  his  tomb.  From  one 
of  them  we  take  these  lines  :  — 

"  Thou  livest  in  the  life  of  all  good  things  ; 

The  words  thou  spak'st  for  freedom  shall  not  die. 
Thou  sleepest  not,  for  now  thy  Love  hath  wings 
To  soar  where  hence  thy  Hope  could  hardly  fly. 

"  And  often,  from  that  other  world,  on  this 

Some  gleams,  from  great  souls  gone  before,  may  shine, 
To  shed  on  struggling  hearts  a  clearer  bliss, 
And  clothe  the  Right  with  lustre  more  divine." 

It  is  twenty-five  years  since  Channing  died ; 
but,  during  all  this  time,  his  spirit  has  been  work 
ing  in  the  Church  and  in  the  nation.  His  faith 
in  man,  in  progress,  in  freedom,  has  been  more 
and  more  widely  felt  and  received ;  and  were  he 

1  Address,  October  6,  1867,  at  services  held  in  Arlington 
Church,  Boston,  on  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  Dr.  Chan- 
ning's  death. 


158  WILLIAM  ELLERY  CH ANN  ING. 

to  look  upon  us  now,  as  perhaps  he  does,  he  would 
see  that  his  ideas  are  becoming  the  commanding 
opinions  of  the  land  and  time,  —  the  "  master-lights 
of  all  our  being." 

Twenty-five  years  have  already  brought  a  new 
generation  on  the  stage,  —  one  which  did  not  know 
him.  Were  he  here,  he  would  be  eighty-seven 
years  old.  I  am  glad  to  have  the  opportunity 
to  tell  those  younger  than  myself  of  what  Chan- 
ning  was  to  rny  generation,  —  first,  by  his  writ 
ings,  and  then  by  his  character. 

At  the  time  when  Channing  began  to  preach,  a 
certain  lethargy  prevailed  in  the  Church.  A 
sleepy  orthodoxy  and  a  drowsy  liberalism  stood 
side  by  side  in  our  pulpits.  The  letter,  which 
kills,  had  destroyed  the  living  spirit.  "The  word 
of  the  Lord  was  precious  in  those  days  ;  there  was 
no  open  vision."  I  have  heard  my  grandfather, 
Dr.  Freeman,  describe  the  electric  effect  produced, 
first  by  Buckminster,  and  then  by  Channing. 
Dr.  Freeman  belonged  himself  to  the  old  school 
of  Unitarians ;  he  was  a  scholar  of  Priestley  and 
Belsham ;  but  he  had  the  head  and  the  heart  to 
see  and  love  the  genius  of  a  man  like  Channing. 
He  spoke  of  him  as  the  greatest  of  thinkers,  when 
as  yet  he  was  not  widely  known  to  fame.  Chan 
ning  rose  out  of  the  region  of  opinions  into  that 
of  ideas.  The  ideas  of  human  nature,  of  freedom, 
of  reason,  and  of  progress,  filled  him  with  pro 
phetic  enthusiasm,  and  caused  him  to  speak  with 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING.  159 

the  tongue  of  men  and  of  angels.  Who  that  ever 
heard  him  can  forget  that  solemn  fire  of  his  eye, 
that  profound  earnestness  of  tone,  which  took  and 
held  captive  all  minds,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end  of  his  discourse  ?  There  was  nothing  like  it, 
nor  second  to  it,  in  any  pulpit  of  America.  It  was 
not  oratory,  it  was  not  rhetoric :  it  was  pure  soul, 
uttering  itself  in  thoughts  clear  and  strong  as  the 
current  of  a  mighty  stream.  As  we  listened,  we 
forgot  the  weak  tabernacle  :  we  were  mastered  by 
the  thought  of  that  mighty  soul,  which 

"  Fretted  the  pigmy  body  to  decay, 
And  o'erinformed  its  tenement  of  clay." 

The  earth  seemed  good  to  live  in,  while  we  lis 
tened  to  him.  It  was  a  great  thing  to  be  a  human 
being.  Life  was  too  short  for  what  we  wished  to 
do  in  it.  Christianity  was  such  a  holy  gift  that 
to  serve  it  was  joy  sufficient  for  this  world.  I 
know  at  least  one  who  never  would  have  been  a 
Christian  minister  if  he  had  not  heard  Channing  ; 
who  blesses  him  to  this  hour  for  having  directed 
his  steps  into  so  noble  a  field  of  duty.  The  writ 
ings  of  Channing  went  through  America  and  over 
Europe,  and  filled  millions  of  readers  with  admira 
tion  and  love.  I  heard  of  a  man  in  Wisconsin, 
who,  unable  to  buy  the  volume,  copied  with  his 
pen  the  whole  of  it  from  beginning  to  end.  When 
Dr.  Channing  wrote  his  book  on  slavery,  I  was 
living  in  Kentucky,  and  reprinted  several  chapters 
in  a  monthly  journal  I  edited  there ;  and  they 


160  WILLIAM  ELLERY  CH ANN  ING. 

were  read  with  interest  by  thousands.  I  knew  a 
Kentucky  planter,  to  whom  I  gave  his  letter  to 
Henry  Clay,  who  had  it  bound  up  with  blank 
leaves,  took  it  in  his  pocket  as  he  rode  through 
his  fields,  and  filled  it  full  of  notes  made  during 
his  leisure  moments.  His  son  afterwards  became 
attorney-general  under  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  one 
of  the  strongest  supporters  of  emancipation.  Who 
can  tell  how  far  Channing's  thought  has  gone,  and 
how  much  of  it  was  seed  which  grew  up  and  bore 
a  hundred  fold  in  the  emancipation  of  a  race  in 
America  ? 

But  it  was  not  merely  the  great  thought  of 
Channing,  but  his  pure  character,  which  has  borne 
this  fruit.  He  gave  an  example  of  personal  noble 
ness  in  all  his  life.  He  was  the  most  accessible 
of  men.  Young  men,  poor  men,  unknown  men, 
could  visit  him,  and  find  him  as  ready  to  talk  with 
them  as  with  the  European  savans  and  British 
noblemen,  who,  as  soon  as  they  landed  in  Boston, 
would  find  their  way  to  the  study  of  Dr.  Channing 
on  Mount  Vernon  Street. 

I  owe  a  great  debt  of  gratitude  to  Dr.  Chan 
ning  for  his  kindness  to  me,  when,  comparatively 
a  young  man,  I  gathered  a  church  in  this  city,  — 
in  some  respects  differing  from  those  then  estab 
lished.  He  sent  for  me  to  come  and  see  him, 
gave  me  invaluable  advice  and  ^encouragement, 
and  even  came  himself,  evening  after  evening,  to 
the  hall  where  we  worshiped,  and  took  a  chair 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CH ANN  ING.  161 

near  the  pulpit.  Before  that,  when  I  edited  the 
"  Western  Messenger,"  he  wrote  for  it  a  long  and 
very  valuable  article  on  Catholicism,  which  any  of 
the  great  reviews  in  England  or  America  would 
have  thankfully  received,  but  which  he  gave  to 
this  obscure  Western  periodical.  His  kindness  to 
all  young  men,  to  all  struggling  enterprises,  his 
sympathy  with  every  attempt  to  improve  the  ag;e, 
came  from  his  generous  interest  in  truth,  and  his 
large  expectation.  When  Mr.  Garrison  was  the 
most  unpopular  man  in  Boston,  and  himself  the 
most  admired,  Dr.  Channing  took  him  by  the 
hand.  When  Abolition  and  Abolitionists  were 
odious,  Dr.  Channing  laid  the  weight  of  his  great 
character  in  this  scale.  Of  all  the  events  of  his 
life,  there  are  few  finer  than  that  which  was  de 
scribed  afterwards  by  Miss  Martin eau.  She  says 
that,  when  a  committee  of  the  Massachusetts  Leg 
islature  was  in  session  to  inquire  whether  some 
bill  should  not  be  enacted,  making  it  a  penal 
offense  to  publish,  here  in  Massachusetts,  any 
thing  against  Southern  slavery ;  and  Mr.  Garrison 
and  his  friends  came  before  that  committee  to 
protest  against  any  such  law  being  passed,  the 
door  of  the  committee-room  opened,  and  there 
stood  Dr.  Channing.  He  was  invited  by  the 
committee  to  come  and  sit  with  them :  but  he 
walked  across  the  room,  came  up  to  Garrison, 
took  him  by  the  hand,  and  sat  down  by  his  side  ; 
thus  showing  his  determination,  as  he  did  on  all 
11 


162  WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 

occasions,  to  stand  by  any  one  whom  it  was  at 
tempted  to  oppress,  no  matter  what  was  the 
weight  of  power  against  him. 

In  one  of  the  last  conversations  I  had  with  him, 
he  told  me  that  the  wish  of  his  life  had  been  to 
write  a  work  which  should  embody  his  views  on 
the  Philosophy  of  Man  and  on  General  Theology; 
"  but,"  said  he,  "  the  cause  of  freedom  demands 
all  the  little  strength  I  have.  I  am  continually 
called  upon,  by  the  occasions  of  the  hour,  to  write 
pamphlets,  which  task  all  my  strength;  and  I 
shall  never  be  able,  I  foresee,  to  do  the  work 
which  I  had  hoped  was  to  be  the  work  of  my 
life." 

Among  all  his  noble  traits,  this  ceaseless  ex 
pectation,  this  undying  hope,  this  sympathy  with 
every  new  person  who  had  anything  to  say  for 
himself,  every  new  movement  which  promised 
anything  for  itself,  —  this  expectation,  so  tranquil 
and  calm,  but  so  ready,  was  one  of  the  noblest. 

Some  men  live  always  on  the  plane  of  what  is 
common :  they  live  in  averages,  and  take  life  at 
low-water  mark.  Others  rise  and  fall  again, 
sometimes  having  a  moment  of  enthusiasm,  a 
sparkle  of  generosity,  and  then  subsiding  into 
their  old  routine.  But  Dr.  Channing  was  always 
breathing  the  pure  air  of  the  mountain-top. 
Whenever  you  went  into  his  room,  he  would 
begin  some  strain  of  a  higher  mood,  some  theme 
of  pure  religion,  something  which  would  lift  you 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING.  163 

into  the  realm  of  eternal  truths,  something  which 
would  make  you  better  and  happier  during  the 
whole  day.  In  this,  he  reminded  me  of  what 
Goethe  wrote  concerning  Schiller,  in  the  service 
of  commemoration  after  his  death  :  — 

"  For  he  was  ours ;  and  may  this  word  of  pride 
Drown  with  its  lofty  tone  pain's  bitter  cry! 

With  us,  the  fierce  storm  over,  he  could  ride 
At  anchor,  in  safe  harbor,  quietly. 

Yet  onward  did  his  mighty  spirit  stride, 
To  beauty,  goodness,  truth,  eternally ; 

And  far  behind,  in  mists  dissolved  away, 

That  which  confines  us  all,  —  the  Common,  —  lay." 

I  remember  Dr.  Channing  once  telling  me,  that, 
of  all  the  words  of  Jesus,  nothing  struck  him  more 
than  his  saying  to  the  Jews  around  him,  "  Be 
perfect,  as  your  Father  in  heaven  is  perfect." 
"  Why,"  said  he,  "  when  I  consider  what  kind  of 
people  they  were ;  when  I  consider  the  hardness 
of  their  hearts,  the  barrenness  of  their  minds,  — 
the  faith  in  humanity  which  could  inspire  such  a 
saying  as  that,  seems  to  me  a  marvel  of  the  love 
of  Jesus.  You  or  I,"  said  he,  "  would  just  as  soon 
have  thought  of  saying  to  these  chairs  and  tables, 
4  Be  ye  perfect,  as  your  Father  in  heaven  is  per 
fect,'  as  to  those  men." 

I  recall  a  day  in  October  spent  at  his  house  in 
Newport,  during  the  whole  of  which  he  talked  of 
the  need  of  more  spiritual  life.  The  topic  of  that 
long  conversation  was  life :  that  we  might  have 
more  life ;  that  we  might  have  it  more  abun- 


164  WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 

dantly  ;  that  we  might  have  it  in  the  nation  ;  that 
we  might  have  it  in  the  churches  ;  that  we  might 
find  it  in  our  own  souls.  It  was  like  one  of  the 
Dialogues  of  Plato ;  it  was  like  the  "  Phsedo ;  "  it 
was  like  the  apology. of  Socrates  before  his  judges. 
It  was  a  strain,  all  through  the  day,  of  aspiration, 
expectation,  hope. 

I  quoted  two  verses  from  Lowell,  written  after 
Dr.  Channing's  death,  in  commencing  these  re 
marks  ;  and  now,  in  closing  them,  I  will  quote 
some  lines,  written  at  the  same  time,  by  our  other 
great  American  poet,  Whittier  :  — 

"  Not  vainly  did  old  poets  tell, 

Nor  vainly  did  old  genius  paint, 
God's  great  and  crowning  miracle, — 
The  hero  and  the  saint. 

"  For,  even  in  a  faithless  day, 

Can  we  our  sainted  ones  discern 
And  feel,  while  with  them  on  the  way, 
Our  hearts  within  us  burn. 

"  And  thus  the  common  tongue  and  pen, 

Which,  world-wide,  echo  Channing's  fame, 
As  one  of  Heaven's  anointed  men, 
Have  sanctified  his  name. 

"  In  vain  shall  Rome  her  portals  bar, 

And  shut  from  him  her  saintly  prize, 
Whom,  in  the  world's  great  calendar, 
All  men  shall  canonize. 

"  How  echoes  yet  each  Western  hill 

And  vale  with  Channing's  dying  word  ! 
How  are  the  hearts  of  freemen  still 
By_  that  great  warning  stirred ! 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CH ANN  ING.  165 

"  Swart  smiters  Of  the  glowing  steel, 
Dark  feeders  of  the  forge's  flame, 
Pale  watchers  at  the  loom  and  wheel, 
Repeat  his  honored  name. 

"  Where  is  the  victory  of  the  grave  ? 
What  dust  upon  the  spirit  lies  ? 
God  keeps  the  sacred  life  he  gave  : 
The  prophet  never  dies/' 


VII. 


WALTER 

AND   SOME   OF  HIS   CONTEMPORARIES. 


WALTER  CHANNING  AND    SOME   OF 
HIS   CONTEMPORARIES.1 


A  GOOD  physician  has  a  hard  life  in  many  ways. 
His  work  is  on  the  shady  side  of  life,  by  the  bed 
of  sickness  and  pain  —  sickness  which  he  often 
cannot  cure,  pain  which  he  is  sometimes  unable  to 
alleviate.  He  has  great  responsibilities,  involv 
ing  grave  anxieties.  The  life,  health,  happiness 
of  others  depend  much  on  his  wisdom,  attention, 
promptness,  fidelity.  Most  of  us  do  our  day's 
work  and  then  go  home  to  rest  or  to  amuse  our 
selves,  to  turn  to  favorite  studies  or  go  into  pleas 
ant  society.  The  work  of  the  physician  never 
ends.  He  never  can  rest  without  the  possibility 
of  being  suddenly  summoned  back  to  his  duties. 
If  he  is  not  actually  called  he  is  always  in  expec 
tation  of  being  called,  and  that  interferes  with 
perfect  rest.  He  is  a  sentinel  who  cannot  sleep  on 
his  post.  His  work  continues  through  night  and 
day,  through  storm  and  shine,  through  heat  and 
cold,  through  summer  and  winter.  Other  men 
may  take  their  vacation,  but  wherever  he  goes, 
1  A  sermon  preached  after  Dr.  Channing's  death. 


170  WALTER  CH ANN  ING. 

the  lightning  message  follows  after  and  asks, 
"  Where  are  you  ?  "  At  home,  he  is  the  slave  of 
the  door-bell ;  abroad,  of  the  telegraph. 

Yet,  with  all  this  labor,  care,  anxiety,  a  physi 
cian's  life  has  many  compensations  ;  compensations 
so  great  that,  when  a  person  is  able  to  fulfill  its 
duties  aright,  it  is  one  of  the  happiest  of  all  profes 
sions.  The  good  physician  has  the  consciousness 
of  usefulness  in  his  work.  The  family  physician 
studies  the  constitutions  of  the  members  of  a 
household  ;  he  is  able  to  advise  them  in  regard  to 
diet,  air,  exercise,  work,  and  recreation.  He  fore 
sees  danger  before  it  comes,  and  shows  them  how 
to  avoid  it.  If  prevention  is  better  than  cure, 
modern  medical  science  which  tends  that  way,  is 
certainly  better  than  that  of  our  fathers.  But 
when  the  inevitable  disease  arrives,  then  the  use 
of  the  physician  appears  in  alleviations  of  pain,  in 
taking  charge  of  the  case  and  so  relieving  the 
anxieties  of  the  patient  and  his  friends.  When 
we  have  confided  our  beloved  ones  to  the  care  of 
the  wise  and  faithful  physician,  we  have  a  sense 
of  reposing  trust.  If  all  drugs  were  abolished, 
I*  do  not  think  the  need  and  use  of  a  physician 
could  be  sensibly  diminished  —  perhaps  it  would 
be  increased.  All  this  is  compensation  for  his  toil 
and  anxiety,  but  more  still  is  the  affection  which 
gathers  around  him.  The  apostle  has  indicated 
this  reward  of  the  profession  in  one  striking  epi 
thet,  "  Luke,  the  beloved  physician."  He  does 


WALTER  CH ANN  ING.  171 

not  say  "  the  wise,"  "  the  learned,"  "  the  cele 
brated,"  physician,  but  the  "  beloved."  The  good 
physician  becomes  a  friend  in  many  homes.  Grate 
ful  love  attends  his  footsteps.  As  his  life  ad 
vances,  there  grows  up  around  him  a  neighbor 
hood  filled  with  friends.  He  is  the  friend  of  old 
and  young,  for  all  need  his  care,  and  depend  on 
his  counsel.  He  becomes  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  interior  life  of  many  families  ;  but  you 
will  notice  that  a  physician  is  very  seldom  a  gos 
sip.  He  no  more  thinks  of  speaking  abroad  of 
what  is  confided  to  him,  than  if  he  were  a  father- 
confessor  ;  as,  indeed,  he  often  is.  And  he  who 
is  able  to  inspire  confidence  in  another  helps 
the  body  through  the  mind,  as  daily  experience 
teaches.  We  all  feel  the  truth  of  what  Walter  Scott 
says  :  — 

I  have  lain  on  the  sick  man's  bed, 

Watching  for  hours  for  the  leech's  tread, 

As  if  I  deemed  that  his  presence  alone 

Had  power  to  bid  my  pains  begone. 

I  have  listed  his  words  of  comfort  given 

As  if  to  oracles  from  Heaven, 

I  have  counted  his  steps  from  my  chamber  door, 

And  blessed  them  when  they  were  heard  no  more. 

I  have  made  these  remarks  in  reference  to  the 
recent  death  of  one  who  has  had  a  long  career  as 
a  physician  in  this  city,  and  has  been  connected 
with  most  important  persons  and  events  in  Boston 
during  more  than  half  a  century.  Dr.  Walter 
Channing  was  appointed  a  medical  professor  in 


172  WALTER   CH ANN  ING. 

Harvard  University  sixty -one  years  ago,  and  phy 
sician  in  the  Massachusetts  General  Hospital  at 
its  very  commencement,  fifty-five  years  ago.  He 
was  one  of  the  Boston  Society  of  Natural  History, 
and  took  part  in  most  of  the  movements  which 
have  identified  Boston  with  philanthropic  reform, 
educational  progress,  and  an  advanced  civilization. 
As  he  grew  older,  he  did  not,  like  many  men,  re 
fuse  to  admit  new  discoveries  and  improvements. 
At  the  age  of  fifty-nine  he  fought  actively  for  the 
introduction  of  pure  water  into  Boston.  When 
he  was  sixty-two  he  took  the  lead  in  introducing 
the  use  of  ether  into  medical  practice  as  a  means 
of  alleviating  pain.  When  he  was  seventy-one  he 
published  a  work  on  "  Reform  in  Medical  Science," 
and  when  seventy-two,  became  consulting  physi 
cian  to  the  New  England  Hospital  for  Women 
and  Children.  He  was  a  true  child  of  Boston,  in 
always  loving  to  tell  or  hear  some  new  thing.  This 
is  a  habit  of  Boston  people,  whence,  perhaps,  our 
city  has  been  called  the  modern  Athens.  I  have 
been  told  that  in  Dr.  Channing's  lectures  he  could 
easily  be  diverted  from  his  main  subject,  and  use 
up  his  time  in  speaking  of  some  recent  •  theory. 
But  I  have  also  been  assured  by  one  of  his  oldest 
students  that  when  his  notice  was  called  to  any 
important  question,  or  any  serious  case,  his  whole 
attention  was  given  to  the  matter  before  him.  In 
such  instances  his  patience  and  devotion  never 
failed.  To  help  the  youngest  physician  who  asked 


WALTER   CH ANN  ING.  173 

his  aid,  or  to  visit  the  poorest  patient  that  needed 
his  presence,  he  would  go  at  any  time  of  the  day 
or  the  night.  All  real  physicians,  I  know,  do 
this  ;  but  physicians  themselves  have  spoken  to 
me  of  Dr.  Channing's  loyalty  to  such  calls  as 
something  to  be  specially  noticed.  How  often,  in 
observing  these  conscientious,  unselfish  services  of 
medical  men,  services  which  bring  to  them  neither 
renown  nor  pecuniary  reward,  I  have  thought  of 
the  touching  lines  of  Dr.  Johnson  to  his  poor  old 
friend  Dr.  Levett :  — 

In  misery's  darkest  cavern  known 

His  useful  care  was  ever  nigh, 
When  fainting  anguish  poured  her  groan, 

And  lonely  want  retired  to  die. 
No  summons,  mocked  by  chill  delay ; 

No  petty  gain,  disdained  by  pride ; 
The  modest  wants  of  every  day 

The  toil  of  every  day  supplied. 

That  medical  men  are  often  wanting  in  religious 
convictions  and  religious  sentiment  is  an  old 
charge,  mentioned  by  Sir  Thomas  Browne  in  his 
"  Religion  of  a  Physician."  That  the  study  of 
natural  causes  disinclines  to  the  belief  in  super 
natural  ones  is  certain  ;  and  hence  the  remark, 
that  "  where  there  are  three  physicians  there  are 
two  atheists."  But  there  is  no  such  opposition 
between  the  large  and  profound  study  of  nature 
and  a  reasonable  form  of  religious  faith.  Two  of 
the  wisest  physicians  whom  Boston  has  had  and 
lost  in  my  day,  Dr.  James  Jackson  and  Dr.  John 


174  WALTER   CH ANN  ING. 

Ware,  were  religious  men  in  the  noblest  sense. 
Both  of  them  told  me  that  they  considered  it  an 
advantage  to  have  their  patients  visited  by  a  sen 
sible  minister,  who  should  come  not  to  agitate,  but 
to  give  calmness,  hope,  and  courage.  Such  phy 
sicians  are  themselves  gospel  ministers.  When 
Jesus  compared  himself  to  a  physician,  he  ac 
cepted  this  work  as  in  the  same  line  with  his  own  ; 
certainly  not  in  opposition  to  it.  He  who  makes 
the  soul  sound  helps  the  body  ;  he  who  makes  the 
body  sound  helps  the  soul.  Maladies  of  the  body 
affect  the  soul ;  a  diseased  soul  reacts  on  the 
body. 

In  Walter  Channing,  belief  and  sentiment  both 
ran  together  in  a  common  religious  channel.  At 
least  it  was  so  when  I  knew  him.  When  the 
Church  of  the  Disciples  was  founded  in  Boston, 
he  became  a  member  at  the  first.  He  took  part 
in  our  meetings,  and  often  presided  over  the  Bible 
class,  which  then  consisted  of  fifty  to  a  hundred 
men  and  women,  meeting  on  Sunday  afternoon. 
In  that  early  day,  when  I  was  absent,  laymen  be 
longing  to  the  church  would  also  conduct  the  ser 
vice  and  preach  a  sermon,  and  this  Walter  Chan 
ning  would  do,  in  his  turn.  He  was  glad  to 
visit  the  poorest  member  in  the  church  ;  and, 
though  in  full  practice,  would  give  them  a  gener 
ous  portion  of  his  time.  I  once  called  to  see  a 
lady  who  was  an  invalid,  a  devout  and  refined 
person,  and  she  told  me  she  had  received  a  de- 


WALTER  CHANN1NG.  175 

lightful  visit  from  Dr.  Charming.  After  he  had 
prescribed  for  her  malady,  she  asked  him  if  he 
could  tell  her  anything  comforting,  and  he  said 
"  Yes  ;  the  most  comforting  thing  ever  spoken  ;  " 
and  then  repeated  a  large  part  of  the  chapters  in 
John,  beginning  "  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled." 
Generations  are  bonded  together,  like  bricks  in 
a  well-laid  wall  where  the  joints  are  broken,  or 
like  shingles  on  a  roof :  each  generation  overlap 
ping  tRe  two  which  follow  it,  and  underlapping  the 
two  which  precede  it.  Thus  there  are  always 
three  generations  in  a  community  at  the  same 
time,  and  every  long-lived  man  transmits  the 
knowledge,  manners,  and  moral  life  of  his  parents 
and  grandparents  to  his  children  and  grandchil 
dren.  This  preserves  the  character  of  a  commu 
nity  amid  the  continual  arrival  and  departure  of 
individuals,  as  the  identity  of  the  human  body  re 
mains  amid  a  perpetual  flux  of  all  its  atoms.  I 
recollect,  some  years  ago,  hearing  the  late  John  G. 
King  of  Salem  say  that,  when  he  was  a  child,  his 
grandmother  had  told  him  that  her  grandmother 
had  told  her  how  she  had  gone  with  her  mother  to 
a  witch  trial  in  Salem,  and  that  the  trial  was  in  a 
church  with  high  backed  pews,  and  how  her 
mother  wore  a  red  cloak,  as  was  not  unusual  then  ; 
and  that  one  of  the  witnesses  cried  out  that  "  the 
little  woman  in  the  red  cloak  was  sticking  pins  in 
her,"  and  that  her  mother,  terribly  frightened,  had 
crouched  down  behind  the  pew.  This  little  piece 


176  WALTER  CHANNING. 

of  life  had  thus  come  to  me  by  only  three  steps 
from  that  time,  nearly  two  centuries  ago.  Thus  a 
single  long  life  is  a  telegraphic  wire  from  one  age 
to  another,  transmitting  its  thoughts  and  its  spirit. 
Dr.  Channing  began  to  practice  medicine  in 
Boston  in  1812,  —  sixty-four  years  ago.  From  a 
copy  of  the  Massachusetts  Register  of  that  year  I 
learn  these  facts  :  In  that  year  Elbridge  Gerry, 
one  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence,  was  Governor  of  Massachusetts.  So  near 
were  they  then  to  the  Revolution.  William  Gray, 
the  greatest  ship-owner  in  America,  was  Lieutenant- 
governor.  In  the  Senate,  as  a  member  from  Bos 
ton,  was  Harrison  Gray  Otis,  and  the  speaker  of 
the  House  was  Joseph  Story  of  Salem,  afterwards 
Judge  Story.  Among  the  members  of  the  House 
from  Boston  were  William  Sullivan,  that  courte 
ous  and  stately  gentleman  whom  many  yet  well 
remember  ;  Benjamin  Russell,  for  many  years  the 
leading  Federal  editor  in  Boston ;  Lemuel  Shaw, 
afterwards  Chief  Justice,  and  James  Savage,  the 
historian  and  genealogist.  The  whole  of  Maine 
was  then  a  part  of  Massachusetts ;  consequently 
we  find  in  this  Legislature  members  not  only  from 
Portland,  Bath,  and  Augusta,  but  from  Mount 
Desert,  Castine,  Eastport,  and  Calais.  Bos 
ton,  the  Register  tells  us,  had  then  only  33,000 
inhabitants.  The  Irish  population  of  Boston  to 
day  are  twice  as  numerous  as  the  whole  population 
then.  It  was  not  a  city  till  long  after ;  the  whole 


WALTER  CHANNING.  177 

people  met  in  Faneuil  Hall  for  town-meeting,  and 
voted  money  to  lay  out  streets  and  pave  them.  It 
was  governed  by  nine  selectmen,  —  among  whom 
I  find  the  names  of  Charles  Bulfinch,  the  architect 
who  built  the  State-house,  and  Ebenezer  Oliver, 
whom  I  remember  seeing,  when  I  was  a  boy,  in 
his  pew  in  King's  Chapel.  Among  the  overseers 
of  the  poor  were  Joseph  Coolidge,  Jr.,  another 
King's  Chapel  gentleman,  and  Jonathan  Phillips, 
the  friend  of  William  Ellery  Channing.  William 
E.  Channing,  then  a  young  minister  not  much 
known  to  fame,  was  on  the  school  committee  with 
another  young  minister  already  very  famous, 
Joseph  Stevens  Buckminster,  and  still  another 
young  minister,  whom  many  of  us  remember  well, 
Charles  Lowell. 

In  this  year,  1812,  when  Walter  Channing 
opened  his  office,  there  were  only  forty-six  physi 
cians  in  Boston,  among  whom  were  some  well- 
remembered  names,  as  Dr.  Danforth,  rough  in  his 
ways  but  sagacious,  and  Dr.  Dexter,  much  be 
loved  in  families  ;  and  Drs.  Spooner,  Ingalls,  Dix- 
well,  Shurtleff,  and  Gorman ;  Dr.  John  C.  War 
ren,  the  famous  surgeon  living  at  7  Park  Street, 
Dr.  Randall  on  Winter  Street,  Dr.  Shattuck  on 
Cambridge  Street,  —  where  they  continued  to  live 
and  practice  for  long  years.  Out  of  the  whole 
list  of  forty-six  who  were  here  in  1812,  only  one 
remains,  honored  and  beloved,  the  last  survivor  of 
that  race  of  good  physicians,  Jacob  Bigelow. 
12 


178  WALTER   C BANNING. 

There  were  only  twenty-nine  churches  in  Bos 
ton  in  1812.  Win.  E.  Channing  was  minister  of 
Federal  Street ;  Horace  Holley,  a  famous  orator 
in  his  day,  drawing  crowds  to  hear  him,  thought 
to  be  somewhat  of  a  heretic,  was  at  Hollis  Street ; 
Charles  Lowell  at  the  West  Church  ;  John  Mur 
ray,  founder  of  Universalism  in  America,  was  in 
Bennet  Street;  Thatcher  at  the  New  South 
Church;  James  Freeman  and  Samuel  Gary  at 
King's  Chapel ;  Buckminster,  that  soul  of  fire,  at 
Brattle  Street ;  and  the  good  Catholic  Bishop 
Cheverus,  whom  all  men  loved,  was  in  Franklin 
Street.  There  was  one  Methodist  church  and  five 
Baptist  churches. 

Among  the  lawyers  of  Boston,  in  1812,  were 
Samuel  Dexter,  Harrison  Gray  Otis,  Timothy 
Fuller  (father  of  Margaret  Fuller),  William  Minot 
(whose  venerable  and  benign  countenance  has  only 
lately  disappeared  from  our  midst),  James  Savage 
(the  antiquarian),  William  Sullivan  and  his 
brother  George,  Samuel  F.  McCleary,  Benjamin 
Guild,  and  David  S.  Greenough.  The  descendants 
of  these  men  who  helped  to  form  the  institutions 
of  our  city  are  still  among  us. 

Dr.  Kirkland  was  president  of  Harvard  College 
in  1812,  and  of  the  corporation,  overseers,  and 
twenty  professors  and  tutors,  not  one  remains. 
Professor  Farrar,  a  man  of  genius,  taught  mathe 
matics  then,  as  he  did  in  my  time.  The  library, 
which  now  contains  155,000  volumes,  had  then 


WALTER   C BANNING.  179 

'17,000.  There  were  only  twenty  officers  and 
teachers  then  ;  now  there  are  145.  Among  the 
names  of  the  corporation  and  overseers  I  find  those 
of  John  Lothrop,  Abiel  Holmes,  William  E.  Chan- 
ning,  Joseph  Stevens  Buck  minster,  Horace  Hoi- 
ley,  Governor  Gore,  Judge  Dawes,  Samuel  Dexter, 
Josiah  Quincy,  Nathaniel  Bowditch,  Theophilus 
Parsons,  Oliver  Wendell,  and  John  Lowell. 

Boston  was  then  a  small  town,  but  a  very  pleas 
ant  one.  There  was  no  gas,  nor  Cochituate  water ; 
no  railroads,  steamboats,  or  telegraphs.  There 
were  large  gardens  in  different  parts  of  the  town, 
and  the  cows  fed  on  the  Common  and  were  driven 
home  at  night.  The  great  merchants,  like  Joseph 
Coolidge,  Samuel  Parkman,  Theodore  Lyman, 
Thomas  H.  Perkins,  Israel  Thorndike,  William 
Gray,  Governor  Phillips,  and  Henderson  Inches, 
lived  in  large,  square,  comfortable  brick  houses, 
with  gardens  behind  and  spacious  areas  in  front. 
The  houses  of  Governor  Phillips  and  Gardner 
Greene  occupied,  when  I  went  to  the  Latin 
School,  nearly  the  whole  space  in  Tremont  Street 
from  School  Street  round  to  Court  Street,  includ 
ing  Pemberton  Square.  One  old  black-looking 
house,  with  diamond  window-glass  set  in  lead, 
stood  opposite  to  our  present  Museum.  It  was 
the  house  in  which  Sir  Harry  Vane  had  lived, 
which  had  remained  down  to  that  time. 

I  have  mentioned  among  the  merchants  of  that 
day  Thomas  H.  Perkins.  He  was  a  type  of  the 


180  WALTER   CH ANN  ING. 

large-minded,  generous,  and  princely  merchants 
of  Boston,  who  early  set  the  example  of  using 
their  wealth  for  public  ends.  These  were  the 
men  who  endowed  Harvard  College  and  founded 
the  Massachusetts  Hospital  and  the  Athenaeum, 
and  gave  liberally  to  all  good  objects.  Colonel 
Perkins,  as  is  well  known,  was  the  great  benefac 
tor  to  the  blind  asylum  which  bears  his  name. 
The  charities  of  Boston,  in  fact,  date  far  back.  In 
this  Register  of  1812  I  find  a  large  number  al 
ready  established  —  such  as  the  Boston  Dispensary; 
the  Massachusetts  Charitable  Society  ;  the  Irish, 
Scotch,  Episcopal,  and  Congregational  Charitable 
Societies ;  the  Charitable  Fire  Society  ;  the  Char 
itable  Mechanic  Association  ;  the  Female  Asylum ; 
the  Boylston  and  Franklin  Donations ;  the  Hu 
mane  Society ;  and  many  missionary  and  educa 
tional  associations.  Wealth  in  Boston  has  always 
tended  toward  such  good  objects  as  these. 

Those  who  grow  up  among  good  institutions,  in 
stitutions  of  education,  of  religion  —  who  live  in 
a  city  like  Boston,  with  its  beautiful  common,  its 
public  library,  its  churches  and  schools,  its  hospi 
tals  and  charities,  are  apt  to  think  that  these 
things  come  of  themselves,  by  some  natural  proc 
ess  of  evolution.  They  forget  the  wisdom,  the 
energy,  the  generosity,  the  high  ideal  aims,  which 
have  combined  to  produce  them.  These  institu 
tions,  our  noble  heritage,  are  the  gifts  of  those  who 
have  gone  before  us.  They  were  built  up  by  men 


WALTER  CH 'ANN ING.  181 

inspired  by  a  liberal  Christianity,  —  for  Boston 
has  always  been  the  home  of  liberal  Christianity. 
They  are  legacies  left  us  by  large-souled  men  and 
women,  who  have  walked  these  streets  before  us 
with  minds  meditating  good  works.  They  have  not 
come  of  themselves.  All  such  institutions  had  to 
be  fought  for,  prayed  for,  worked  for.  They  were 
resisted  then,  as  they  are  resisted  now,  by  the  dead 
weight  of  indifference,  by  the  active  opposition  of 
combined  selfishness,  by  personal  interest  and  blind 
prejudice.  And  this  is  why  we  ought  to  remember 
those  who,  amid  bitter  opposition,  held  on  and  con 
quered,  and  left  us  these  fair  results.  "  Other  men 
labored  ;  ye  have  entered  into  their  labors." 

In  that  company  was  the  wise  physician,  James 
Jackson.  He  stood  at  the  head  of  his  profession, 
unequaled  in  his  sagacious,  clear  judgments,  his 
benign  good-will,  his  unspotted  Christian  charac 
ter.  He  also  left  his  stamp  on  his  time,  a  stamp 
not  to  be  effaced.  The  whole  medical  profession 
in  Boston  occupies  a  higher  position  of  honor  and 
usefulness  because  of  this  one  life. 

Nor  can  we  forget  the  upright  statesman,  magis 
trate,  and  scholar,  —  who  led  a  life  of  such  varied 
usefulness,  as  member  of  Congress,  mayor  of 
Boston,  president  of  Harvard  College,  —  Josiah 
Quincy.  He  stood  among  us  as  one  of  the  solid 
pillars  of  our  social  edifice.  Boston  rested  on  him, 
and  felt  safe.  He  was  embodied  integrity  ;  not  to 
be  touched  by  anything  low,  anything  mean.  We 


182  WALTER   CH ANN  ING. 

may  apply  the  Scripture  blessing  to  any  commu 
nity  where  such  men  live,  and  say :  "  Happy  the 
people  that  are  in  such  a  case."  Through  such 
honorable  citizens,  such  pure  lives,  religion  be 
comes  incarnate  as  goodness.  "Christianity,  too 
often  deemed  only  a  creed  or  a  profession,  is  seen 
as  a  living,  working  power  to  sustain  the  whole  of 
society  in  right-doing. 

In  the  letters  of  John  Adams  to  his  wife,  we 
learn  that  the  people  of  Massachusetts,  as  late  as  a 
hundred  years  ago,  had  a  prejudice  against  law 
yers,  and  thought  them  not  safe  or  useful  citizens. 
The  lawyers  of  Dr.  Channing's  generation,  and 
those  who  have  succeeded  them,  have  left  a  record 
which  has  effaced  all  such  prejudices.  The  judges 
in  our  courts,  from  the  days  of  Theophilus  Par 
sons  until  now  —  the  bar  of  Suffolk,  illustrated  by 
such  upright,  pure,  arid  useful  men,  have  raised  the 
standard  of  intelligence,  refinement,  and  character 
in  this  community.  I  will  not  stop  to  repeat 
names  familiar  to  all  of  you. 

The  year  1812,  when  Walter  Channing  com 
menced  practice  in  Boston,  was  the  beginning 
of  what  we  call  the  last  war  with  Great  Britain. 
May  it  always  bear  that  name  !  Madison  was  Presi 
dent  ;  George  Clinton,  Vice-president ;  Henry  Clay, 
speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives.  The 
naval  force  of  the  United  States  in  commission 
consisted  of  six  frigates  and  a  few  brigs.  With 
this  lilliputian  fleet,  we  went  out  to  attack  Great 


WALTER  CHANNING.  183 

Britain,  ruler  of  the  seas.  It  was  like  little  David 
going  to  fight  Goliath.  But  what  events  have 
intervened  since  the  day  when  Walter  Channing 
began  his  modest  practice  in  Boston  till  the  day 
he  was  carried  to  his  grave !  How  this  nation 
has  extended  from  sea  to  sea  !  How  it  has  devel 
oped  art,  literature,  agriculture,  commerce,  manu 
factures  !  What  difficulties  it  has  surmounted, 
what  sufferings  borne  !  And  when  we  look  back 
on  what  has  occurred  in  the  course  of  a  single 
human  life,  can  we  help  thanking  God  and  taking 
courage  ?  Thanking  God,  —  for  if  there  is  a 
Providence  in  human  affairs  we  must  see  it  in 
ours.  If  God  led  the  Israelites  through  the  Red 
Sea  and  the  wilderness  to  the  promised  land, 
surely  he  has  guided  our  feet  through  the  terrible 
trials  of  civil  war  to  universal  freedom  and  na 
tional  integrity.  And  shall  we  not  take  courage 
in  looking  back  over  the  past  ninety  years  ?  We 
have  still,  no  doubt,  many  evils  to  contend  with, 
many  trials  to  encounter.  Folly  and  corruption 
are  to  be  found  among  us  still ;  many  reforms  are 
still  needed ;  but  the  God  of  our  fathers  is  ours, 
and  the  plant  they  planted  and  watered  —  the 
plant  of  a  liberal  and  practical  Christianity,  of 
freedom  joined  with  order,  of  liberty  guided  by 
justice,  that  plant  is  still  to  grow  and  spread  and 
bear  fruit  for  the  healing  of  the  nations  and  the 
blessing  of  mankind.  Looking  back,  then,  on  our 
fathers'  honorable  and  useful  lives,  let  us  manfully 


184  WALTER   CHANNING. 

take  their  places  and  do  their  work.  Grateful  for 
the  institutions  they  founded,  let  us  cherish  and 
improve  them.  We  are  not  here  for  our  sakes 
alone.  We  are  members  of  a  great  body ;  we 
belong  to  the  past  and  to  the  future.  If  we  were 
only  here  to  make  money  for  ourselves,  to  get 
position  and  reputation  for  ourselves,  and  then 
die,  that  would  be  a  small  affair.  But  we  are 
here  as  the  representatives  of  all  who  have  gone 
before  us ;  taking  their  places  when  they  go,  ac 
cepting  their  responsibilities.  We  are  here  to 
support  and  elevate  the  schools,  the  churches,  all 
the  good  methods  which  they  initiated.  If  we 
abdicate  this  position,  selfishly  indifferent  to  the 
mother-land  which  has  cherished  us,  cynically 
despising  the  human  life  around  us,  thinking  it 
a  fine  thing  to  neglect  doing  anything  for  society, 
while  we  criticise  what  is  done  by  others,  we 
are  degenerate  sons  of  Boston.  But  let  us  rather 
gladly  take  our  part  in  all  that  will  lift  and  help 
others,  so  that  when  we  shall  follow  this  "  innu 
merable  caravan  "  to  the  mysterious  Beyond,  and 
meet  our  fathers  there,  we  shall  not  hear  from 
their  lips  the  sad  rebuke :  "  O  negligent  children  ! 
we  labored  and  toiled  that  you  might  be  born 
amid  the  influences  of  religion,  education,  and  good 
manners,  and  you  have  hidden  your  talent  in  a 
napkin.  When  your  brothers  were  marching  to 
battle,  you  have  stepped  out  of  the  ranks  and  gone 


WALTER   CH ANN  ING.  185 

to  the  rear.     O  degenerate  children,  why  have  you 
thus  dishonored  our  names  ?  " 

Let  it  not  be  so  with  us ;  but,  while  we  remain, 
let  us  each  do  with  our  might  what  our  hands 
find  to  do,  for  truth  and  humanity,  for  God  and 
for  man. 


VIII. 
EZBA  STILES   GAET^ETT. 


EZRA   STILES     GANNETT. 


ONCE,  after  a  long  and  severe  illness,  I  was 
walking  on  Boston  Common,  and  met  Dr.  James 
Jackson.  The  wise  and  kind  old  man  took  my 
arm  and  went  a  little  way  with  me,  while  he 
made  these  remarks  :  "  I  will  say  to  you  what  I 
once  said  to  Henry  Ware.  Let  us  estimate  a 
man's  usefulness  in  a  community  at  some  num 
ber —  say  ten.  If  the  man  continues  to  live  in 
the  place  ten  years,  then,  though  he  may  only  do 
just  as  much  work  as  he  did  at  first,  his  influ 
ence  is  no  longer  ten  but  twenty.  Simply  by 
continuing  to  work,  his  usefulness  is  doubled,  be 
cause  each  year  he  is  extending  his  acquaintance 
and  becoming  better  known.  But  if,  by  inatten 
tion  to  his  health  and  by  neglecting  the  laws  of 
his  physical  nature,  he  becomes  an  invalid,  he 
never  reaches  that  point  of  influence  represented 
by  twenty.  Good  morning,  sir." 

Dr.  Gannett,  long  before  his  death,  had  become 
such  an  influence  in  Boston.  We  all  felt  a  little 
better  and  happier  'for  knowing  that  he  was  living 


190  EZRA  STILES   GANNETT. 

among  us.  He  was  one  of  the  men  who  gave 
character  to  the  city.  Wherever  he  was  seen 
passing  with  his  rapid  step,  jumping  along  on  his 
two  canes,  men  felt  the  presence  of  the  Sense  of 
Duty.  Conscience  was  incarnate  before  their 
eyes.  The  Moral  Sense  was  made  flesh,  and  dwelt 
among  them.  Such  a  man,  by  continuing  to  live, 
does  more  for  a  city  than  half  a  dozen  banks, 
and  is  a  greater  power  than  the  whole  Common 
Council. 

In  Dr.  Gannett  we  have  lost,  I  fear,  the  last 
man  in  our  circle  who  had  a  full  sense  of  ministe 
rial  brotherhood.  He  believed,  with  all  his  heart, 
in  the  brotherhood  of  the  clergy.  No  man  ever 
stood  by  his  order  as  heartily  as  he.  How  he 
loved  the  meeting  of  ministers  —  how  he  wel 
comed  them  to  his  hospitable  table  —  what  loy 
alty  he  manifested  to  all  his  brethren  !  He  never 
could  think  ill  of  a  brother  minister.  He  always 
gave  to  them  "  the  benefit  of  clergy."  When  a 
young  man  passed  from  the  ranks  of  the  divinity 
students  into  that  of  the  ministers,  he  felt  himself 
welcomed  by  that  cordial  hand  to  a  new  sphere. 
No  matter  who  gave  the  formal  "  right  hand  "  at 
his  ordination,  that  pressure  of  Dr.  Gannett's  was 
the  real  "  right  hand  of  fellowship."  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  he  regarded  ordination  in  the  Cath 
olic  sense,  as  a  sacrament  communicating  some 
new  spiritual  quality  to  him  who  received  it.  To 
him  all  his  ministerial  brethren  were  sacred  and 


EZRA  STILES   GANNETT.  191 

sanctified.  Brother  A.  might  seem  to  others  dull, 
brother  B.  a  bigot,  brother  C.  too  self-indulgent, 
brother  D.  a  cold,  dry  man.  Not  so  to  him.  He 
refused  to  recognize  anything  but  good  in  them. 
He  himself,  the  very  opposite  to  them  in  all  these 
things,  never  seemed  to  have  the  sense  of  their  de 
fects.  Or,  if  his  sharp  eye  could  not  help  notic 
ing  them,  he  spoke  of  them  with  a  smile,  as  one 
notices  a  trifling  blemish  on  some  great  work  of 
art.  He  was  "  The  Last  of  the  Brethren." 

It  was  among  the  mountains  that  I  heard  of  the 
terrible  disaster  which  desolated  so  many  homes, 
and  took  from  us  our  father  and  friend.  When 
my  first  shock  of  surprise  and  grief  was  over,  I 
said,  uWhat  does  it  matter  to  him  how  he  went  ?  " 
Death  fell  on  him  suddenly,  unexpectedly,  but 
it  did  not  find  him  unprepared.  The  Litany  of 
the  Episcopal  Church  deprecates  "  sudden  death." 
The  improved  form  of  it,  as  used  in  the  King's 
Chapel  service,  prays  to  be  delivered,  not  from 
"  sudden  death,"  but  from  "  death  unprepared 
for,"  which  is  a  better  prayer.  All  of  Dr.  Gan- 
nett's  life  was  a  preparation  for  death.  I  think 
he  was  the  most  conscientious  man  I  ever  knew. 
He  was  even  too  conscientious.  His  conscience 
was  often  a  morbid  one,  or  rather  a  tyrannical 
one,  and  ruled  him  too  despotically.  He  never 
seemed  to  forgive  in  himself  what  he  willingly 
forgave  in  others.  He  went  mourning  all  his  days 
because  he  could  not  attain  his  own  lofty  ideal  of 


192  EZRA  STILES   GANNETT. 

duty.  He  was  only  contented  when  he  could  be 
making  sacrifices,  renouncing  comfort,  giving  up 
something  to  some  one  else,  denying  himself  and 
taking  up  his  cross.  That,  to  him,  was  the  chief 
command  of  Christ,  and  he  lived  a  life  of  perpet 
ual,  remorseless  self-denial  and  labor.  He  ought 
to  have  been  an  anchorite  —  a  hermit,  living  on 
herbs,  in  a  cave,  in  order  to  be  satisfied.  And 
certainly,  when  we  think  how  our  life  runs  to 
luxury  and  self-indulgence,  it  was  a  great  thing 
to  have  among  us  one  man  who  never  indulged 
himself,  but  always  longed  to  bear  hardship  as  a 
good  soldier  of  Christ.  I  do  not  think  he  ever 
quite  saw  that  side  of  the  Gospel  which  brings 
pardon  and  peace  to  the  soul,  and  makes  us  feel  as 
safe  in  the  love  of  God  as  the  little  child  feels  safe, 
sleeping  in  its  small  crib  by  the  side  of  its  mother. 
I  often  longed  that  he  should  see  more  of  this 
part  of  Christianity,  arid  thought  what  immense 
power  he  would  have  to  shake  society,  and  pour 
into  it  a  new  revival  of  faith  and  love,  if  to  all 
his  other  gifts  he  could  have  added  a  fuller  faith 
in  the  pardoning  love  of  God.  I  do  not  mean  that 
he  doubted  or  denied  it,  but  he  never  seemed 
to  me  wholly  to  realize  it.  He  could  believe  that 
God  would  pardon  the  sins  of  others,  but  not  his 
own.  This  deprived  him  of  a  portion  of  the  power 
he  would  otherwise  have  had,  and  threw  a  certain 
austerity  into  his  services,  which  made  them  too 
severe  for  young  and  sensitive  natures.  His  young 


EZRA  STILES   GANNETT.  193 

people  sometimes  left  him  for  churches  where 
there  was  more  comfort  and  hope,  and  then  he 
blamed  himself  for  it,  as  he  did  for  every  trial 
that  befell  him.  But  it  was  no  fault  of  his  —  he 
was  made  so  ;  his  conscience  was  too  strong  for 
him,  and,  as  I  said,  too  despotic. 

And  yet  how  sweet  he  was !  What  a  lovely 
smile  of  affection  played  on  his  lips  as  he  met 
you !  how  warm  and  generous  his  greeting  !  how 
glad  he  was  to  do  full  justice  to  the  work  of 
others  !  how  tender  his  sympathies !  and  how  his 
sense  of  justice  flamed  against  evil  and  wrong 
everywhere. 

Here  let  me  relate  a  little  anecdote.  I  once 
went  into  Theodore  Parker's  study,  just  after  Dr. 
Gannet  had  preached  a  sermon  in  which  he  main 
tained  it  to  be  our  duty,  under  the  Constitution,  to 
return  fugitives  to  slavery.  For  no  man  had  more 
the  courage  of  his  opinions  than  he ;  what  his 
mind  thought,  that  his  tongue  uttered.  His  truth 
fulness  was  perfect.  He  was  perhaps  often  a  lit 
tle  too  subtle  in  his  reasonings,  and  so  seemed 
to  argue  like  a  lawyer,  with  special  pleading. 
But  this  was  merely  because  his  mind  was  natu 
rally  very  quick,  very  acute,  and  keen  rather  than 
broad.  But  he  was  always  the  incarnation  of 
truthfulness  ;  and  if  he  believed  a  thing,  no  mortal 
power  could  keep  him  from  expressing  it.  So, 
against  his  sympathies,  which  were  always  with 
the  unhappy,  he  had  preached  his  sermon,  taking 

13 


194  EZRA  STILES    GANNETT. 

what  was  called  conservative  ground.  When  I 
went  into  Theodore  Parker's  study,  he  was  read 
ing  this  sermon,  and  expressed  his  indignation 
strongly  against  Gannett.  I  said :  "  Theodore, 
I  wish  to  tell  you  a  story  which  I  lately  heard 
about  Gannett."  So  I  told  him  of  a  case  of  a 
poor,  wretched,  despised  character,  whom  Gan 
nett  had  devoted  himself  to  helping  and  saving. 
I  told,  as  I  had  heard  it,  how  he  spared  himself 
no  time,  labor,  nor  reproach,  to  save  this  one 
brand  from  the  burning.  When  I  finished,  Park 
er's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  he  said,  "  Well, 
he  is  a  dear,  good  old  soul  after  all." 

And  the  other  day,  looking  over  some  old  letters, 
I  found  one  relating  to  the  time  when  Parker  was 
most  offensive  to  the  conservatives,  and  it  was 
proposed  to  put  him  out  of  the  Boston  Asso 
ciation.  Dr.  Gannett  and  John  Pierpont  were 
among  the  few  of  the  older  members  who  opposed 
it.  He  disliked  and  feared  Parker's  views,  but 
he  would  not  consent  to  the  spirit  of  exclusion  or 
persecution,  and  he  resisted  it  with  all  the  fire 
and  ardor  of  his  eloquence ;  and  it  was  so  resisted 
by  him  and  by  others  that  every  such  attempt  was 
defeated. 

For  he  was  one  to  whom  that  often  used,  much 
abused,  word,  eloquence,  might  justly  be  applied. 
When  he  kindled  into  flame,  his  words  had  a 
singular  power,  which  pervaded  and  charmed  an 
audience.  I  never  have  known  a  greater  mag- 


EZRA  STILES   GANNETT.  195 

netism  than  they  exercised  at  such  moments.  His 
power  of  language  was  so  great,  he  was  so  fluent 
and  affluent  in  his  expression,  and  so  inspired  by 
his  passion,  that  he  swept  away  all  our  coldness, 
and  was  almost  sure  of  carrying  his  ca,use,  what 
ever  it  was,  right  or  wrong.  To  him  his  opinion 
was  not  only  right,  but  absolutely  right  ;  and  his 
smallest  judgment  seemed  to  him  to  be  freighted 
with  immense  consequences  ;  and  this  sincerity  of 
passion  was  very  apt  to  make  even  a  poor  argu 
ment  triumphant. 

In  regard  to  all  matters  of  this  world,  Gan 
nett  was  the  most  disinterested  of  men.  It  was 
impossible  to  make  him  accept  a  favor,  or  allow 
anything  to  be  done  for  him  which  he  could  do 
himself.  Once  his  congregation  voted  an  increase 
of  salary.  He  refused  to  accept  it.  They  paid 
no  attention  to  his  refusal,  and  when  quarter-day 
came  the  treasurer  paid  him  according  to  the  new 
tariff.  He  sent  back  the  surplus.  The  treasurer 
returned  it,  saying  he  had  no  right  not  to  pay  it. 
Gannett  sent  it  back  again,  and  became  so  indig 
nant  at  their  persisting  to  pay  him  that  at  last 
they  could  merely  lay  it  aidse  and  let  it  accumu 
late  till  they  could  do  something  with  it  for  his 
benefit.  Whether  they  succeeded  in  this  I  have 
never  learned.  When  I  heard  the  story,  their 
failure  was  a  decided  one. 

He  is  happy  now.  Now  he  is  able  to  see  that 
side  of  the  gospel  which,  during  life,  was  too 


196  EZRA  STILES   GANNETT. 

much  hidden  from  his  eyes.  At  last  he  has  en 
tered  into  his  rest.  Peaceful  close  of  a  tumultu 
ous  and  laborious  day  —  sweet  sense  of  calm  after 
many  a  storm.  I  grieve  not  for  his  death.  I 
thank  God  for  what  he  has  been,  and  for  what 
he  has  done  ;  and  I  am  grateful  for  that  noble, 
generous,  never-resting,  always-aspiring  and  strug 
gling  soul,  which  one  day  we  shall  meet  again,  in 
a  state  where,  all  his  limitations  removed,  he  will 
be  an  angel  both  of  power  and  of  peace  in  the 
many  mansions  of  the  Heavenly  Father. 


IX. 

SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAT. 


SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY. 


I  HAVE  just  been  reading,  with  much  interest, 
the  biography  of  this  remarkable  man.  I  am 
glad  that  the  work  fell  into  the  hands  of  one  who 

o 

has  made  of  it  a  labor  of  love.  The  writer  was 
one  of  Mr.  May's  "  children  "  —  one  of  the  many 
drawn  into  the  ministry  by  the  encouragement 
and  welcome  which  he  always  gave  to  young  men 
of  promise.  In  fact,  the  view  of  the  ministry 
taken  by  Mr.  May  was  so  cheerful,  hopeful,  prac 
tical,  that  its  work,  as  illustrated  by  himself,  was 
attractive.  In  the  ministry  he  knew  no  constraint. 
He  was  free  as  air.  All  trammels  of  custom,  all 
formalities  of  the  profession,  dropped  away  from 
him.  He  was  free,  and  made  others  free,  wher 
ever  he  came.  And  this  he  did  without  com 
plaint,  railing,  or  dispute.  Some  men  are  born 
free  ;  others  have  liberty  thrust  upon  them  ;  and 
some  gain  it  through  a  bitter  conflict,  which  leaves 
them  a  little  sour  and  cynical.  Mr.  May's  free 
dom  was  of  the  first  sort. 

I  also  received,  from  some  kind  friend,  a  pamph- 


200  SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY. 

let  containing  the  services,  in  Syracuse,  at  the 
funeral  of  this  good  man.  All  in  the  book  is 
good,  except  the  black  lines  of  mourning  around 
the  pages.  Such  emblems  of  sorrow,  at  the  birth 
into  a  higher  state  of  a  Christian  soul,  are  seldom 
appropriate,  and  never  less  so  than  at  the  depar 
ture  of  such  a  man  as  Samuel  J.  May.  If  the 
Republican  journals  in  Illinois  had  been  draped 
in  mourning  when  Abraham  Lincoln  was  chosen 
President,  because  he  was  about  to  leave  the  State 
and  reside  in  Washington,  it  would  not  have  been 
more  inappropriate  than  to  do  this  on  the  occa 
sion  of  the  departure  of  Samuel  Joseph  May  to  a 
higher  work  and  a  serener  joy. 

Mr.  May's  father,  Colonel  Joseph  May,  was  one 
of  those  striking  figures  not  easily  forgotten.  As 
a  boy  attending  King's  Chapel,  I  recollect  him 
passing  our  pew  every  Sunday  morning,  on  his 
way  from  the  vestry  to  his  own  seat ;  his  sharp, 
clear  eye,  firm  step,  knee-breeches,  and  shoe-buck 
les  giving  the  impression  of  a  noticeable  charac 
ter.  From  his  distant  pew,  his  voice,  in  response 
to  the  minister,  came  louder  than  that  of  the  clerk 
close  by.  That  clerk  was,  in  those  days,  Mr. 
Joseph  T.  Buckingham,  who  rather  slighted  his 
responses,  as  it  seemed  to  us  young  folks.  How 
ever  that  may  be,  Colonel  May's  responses  made 
an  essential  part  of  the  service  to  our  minds,  and 
we  should  have  regarded  the  ceremonies  as  incom 
plete  without  them. 


SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY.  201 

Colonel  May  was  an  upright,  intelligent,  deter 
mined  character ;  universally  respected,  and  one 
of  the  earliest  and  firmest  supporters  of  Dr.  Free 
man  in  his  movement  in  behalf  of  a  reformed  lit 
urgy  and  a  Liberal  Christianity.  Between  the 
two,  as  long  as  both  lived,  there  was  an  indissolu 
ble  friendship,  —  such  an  one  as  exists  between 
those  who  have  fought  side  by  side  in  the  same 
battle  for  truth  and  freedom. 

A  graduate  of  Harvard  University,  both  in  its 
Academic  Department  and  its  Divinity  School, 
Samuel  J.  May  began  life  under  conditions  which 
might  have  made  him  conservative  in  politics  and 
morals.  But  it  was  otherwise  determined  ;  and 
his  first  step  in  radicalism  he  took  at  the  Divinity 
School,  under  the  guidance  of  that  good  man,  Dr. 
Henry  Ware,  the  elder. 

Down  to  the  time  of  his  entering  the  Divinity 
School,  Mr.  May  had  never  thought  much  on 
theological  questions,  but  had  reverently  received 
the  instructions  of  his  father  and  pastor.  But 
now  he  had  great  questions  laid  before  him,  and 
was  told  to  look  at  both  sides  faithfully.  He  was 
too  honest  to  pretend  to  look  at  both  sides  while 
he  only  saw  the  reasons  for  one,  and  not  those  in 
favor  of  the  other.  Being  honest,  he  honestly 
weighed  the  arguments  in  favor  of  opposing  opin 
ions,  and  soon  found  himself  in  a  condition  of 
doubt.  One  by  one,  every  belief  he  had  been 
taught  to  revere  became  uncertain.  He  had  be- 


202  SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY. 

come  a  skeptic,  so  it  seemed  to  him,  in  regard  to 
all  the  main  doctrines  which  he  was  expecting 
by  and  by  to  preach.  Under  these  circumstances 
there  was  only  one  thing  for  him  to  do.  It  was  a 
hard  thing  to  disappoint  his  father's  hopes  and 
his  own,  and  renounce  the  ministry,  but  he  must 
do  it.  So  he  went  to  see  Dr.  Ware,  the  head  of 
the  Divinity  School,  and  mustered  courage  to  tell 
him  that  he  must  quit  the  school  and  give  up  his 
profession.  He  then  described  the  state  of  mind 
into  which  he  had  fallen.  When  he  had  finished, 
and  was  waiting,  expecting  to  be  rebuked  for  his 
skepticism,  Dr.  Ware  looked  at  him  from  under  his 
bushy  eyebrows,  and  over  his  large  spectacles,  and 
said,  quietly,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  all  this." 
Struck  dumb  with  astonishment,  the  youth  could 
only  stare  in  silence.  The  good  man  proceeded : 
"  Yes,  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  It  shows  you  have 
begun  to  think.  To  doubt  is  the  beginning  of 
belief.  Go  on  thinking.  Do  not  be  afraid  —  you 
will  come  out  all  right.  You  are  doing  what  you 
came  to  this  place  for  —  you  are  really  thinking. 
It  is  an  excellent  sign." 

This  lesson  was  never  lost  on  Mr.  May.  He 
continued  all  his  life  to  think  for  himself  on  all 
subjects,  and  advised  all  others  to  do  the  same. 
He  was  hospitable  to  all  honest  thought.  The 
following  anecdote  was  told  me,  many  years  ago, 
by  the  gentleman  who  is  its  subject :  — 

A  youth  in  Brooklyn,  Conn.,  a  farmer's  son, 


SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY.  203 

was  seized  with  a  desire  to  study  for  the  ministry. 
So  he  went  to  Mr.  May,  told  him  his  wishes,  said 
he  had  only  received  a  common-school  education, 
and  asked  what  he  should  study.  Mr.  May  gave 
him  "Locke  on  the  Understanding,"  and  told  him 
to  read  it  through  carefully.  Some  two  or  three 
months  after,  meeting  the  young  man,  he  asked 
him  how  he  got  on  with  the  book.  "  Rather 
slowly,"  replied  the  student.  Nothing  further 
occurred  until  a  year  had  passed.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  the  young  man  returned  the  book, 
and  said,  "  It  is  of  no  use,  Mr.  May,  for  me  to  try 
to  be  a  student.  You  see  it  has  taken  me  a  whole 
year  to  read  one  book."  "  But  let  us  see,"  said 
Mr.  May,  "  what  you  know  about  it."  On  ex 
amination,  it  appeared  that  the  youth  knew  every 
thing  in  these  volumes.  There  was  not  a  point 
made  anywhere  but  he  knew  all  about  it.  He 
had  mastered  the  whole  argument.  Whereupon 
Mr.  May  assured  him  that  a  year  spent  in  this 
way  in  studying  one  work  was  itself  a  liberal 
education.  He  encouraged  him  to  pursue  his 
studies.  I  afterward  met,  in  the  West,  this 
"  homo  unius  libri"  and  found  him  a  most  intelli 
gent  and  able  man ;  and  he  told  me  he  owed  to 
the  encouragement  and  good  advice  of  Mr.  May 
his  success  in  life. 

It  was  while  Mr.  May  was  preaching  to  the 
society  in  Brooklyn,  Conn.,  that  he  became  the 
champion  of  an  oppressed  woman,  Miss  Prudence 


204  SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY. 

Crandall.      This    lady  was   guilty  of    the    grave 
offense   of   opening   a   school   for    colored   young 
women,   in    the    adjoining    town    of   Canterbury. 
The  Legislature  of  Connecticut  passed  an  act  for 
bidding  any  teaching,  within  that  State,  of  colored 
youth  from  other  States.    She  continued  to  teach ; 
her  school  was  broken  up  by  a  mob,  and  she  her 
self  imprisoned.     Mr.  May  stood  by  her  side  and 
advocated  her  cause  in  the  meetings  called  to  de 
nounce  her  and  to  put  her  down.     This  excited 
opposition  to  him  in  his  own  society,  and  one  man, 
a  neighbor,  was  especially  abusive  in  his  language 
concerning  Mr.  May.     Mr.  May  took  no  notice  of 
this  at  the  time,  made  no  reply  to  the  attacks,  and 
would   not    allow  his    friends    to  reply  to   them. 
Some  time  after,  driving  past  his  neighbor's  gar 
den,  he  saw  him  at  work  there.     He  stopped  his 
horse,  and  said,  in  those  pleasant  tones  which  no 
one  will  forget  who  ever  heard  them,  uMy  dear 
sir,  what  fine  melons  you  have  there !    I  wish  you 
would  give  me  one  for  my  wife  ;  she  is  very  fond 
of  melons,  and  I  have  seen  none  as  good  as  yours 
this  summer."     Nothing  which  could  have  been 
said  or  done  could  have  convinced  the  man  so  en 
tirely  that  Mr.  May  cherished  no  ill-will  toward 
his  assailant.     So  —  confused,  joyful,  and  grateful 
—  he  cried  out,  "  A  dozen,  Mr.  May,  let  me  give 
you  a  dozen.     I  will  bring  them  myself  to  your 
house."     Mr.  May  at  first  declined  this  abundant 
civility,  but  as  the  man  insisted,  he  allowed  him 


SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY.  205 

to  do  so.  From  that  hour  the  opponent  became 
his  devoted  friend,  and  when  Mr.  May  left  Brook 
lyn  this  man  took  leave  of  him  with  tears. 

Mr.  May  was  one  of  the  earliest  friends  and 
fellow- workers  with  Mr.  Garrison  in  the  anti- 
slavery  cause.  It  is  a  great  thing  for  a  young 
man  or  woman  to  be  taken  hold  of  by  some  gen 
erous  idea  or  great  truth.  It  transforms,  renews, 
transfigures  life.  Mr.  May  was  not  by  nature  a 
man  of  genius.  He  had  in  him  good  blood,  and 
came  of  a  good  stock,  —  of  an  honest,  patriotic, 
truth-loving  race.  He  was  early  convinced  of  the 
truth  of  the  antislavery  doctrine,  and  was  so 
honest  that  he  at  once  gave  his  adherence  to  it ; 
and  that  made  him  a  man  of  power.  In  those 
days  it  was  exceedingly  unpopular,  even  in  Bos 
ton.  One  can  hardly  believe,  what  yet  is  a  fact, 
that  Mr.  May,  having  arranged  to  preach  in  Hollis 
Street  for  John  Pierpont,  was  besought  by  men 
in  that  society,  who  afterwards  were  distinguished 
for  their  antislavery  convictions,  not  to  do  so,  be 
cause  it  would  occasion  such  dissatisfaction  to  have 
him  in  the  pulpit.  But,  more  than  any  man  I 
ever  knew,  Samuel  Joseph  May  combined  the  two 
elements  of  courage  and  gentleness.  He  was  a 
gentle  knight  —  a  knight  as  brave  as  Launcelot, 
and  as  courteous  as  Calidore.  His  Christianity 
was  aggressive,  and  yet  liberal,  generous,  and  kind. 
His  influence  was  like  that  of  a  June  Sunday  —  a 
perpetual  breath  of  summer  and  Sabbath-days. 


206  SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY. 

A  leading  peculiarity  of  our  friend  was  the 
combination  of  traits  usually  disjoined.  One  of 
the  most  serious  of  Christians  in  his  earnestness 
of  purpose,  he  was  also  one  of  the  most  cheerful. 
Looking  continually  with  a  tender  pity  upon  the 
woes  and  wrongs  of  men,  he  was  full  of  a  glad 
hope  concerning  the  issues  of  human  destiny. 
One  of  the  most  practical  of  men  in  his  habits  of 
thought,  and  always  aiming  at  definite  results,  he 
yet  would  never  sacrifice  a  principle  or  surrender 
abstract  right  to  any  apparent  expediency.  A 
peace  man  and  non-resistant,  both  by  disposition 
and  conviction,  he  was  a  born  belligerent,  and  his 
life  was  one  long  battle  against  falsehoods  and 
wrongs.  He  united  a  courage  which  never  feared 
the  face  of  man  and  shrunk  from  no  opposition 
in  expressing  his  convictions,  with  an  almost  un- 
equaled  modesty  and  a  genuine  respect  for  views 
differing  from  his  own,  no  matter  by  whom  those 
views  were  maintained.  A  democrat  in  all  his 
convictions  and  feelings,  he  nevertheless  had  an 
unfeigned  reverence  for  all  superiority  of  genius 
and  of  character.  This  manly  modesty,  this  com 
bative  peacefulness,  this  reverential  independence, 
this  practical  idealism,  this  sympathetic  self-reli 
ance,  this  entire  toleration  of  the  opinions  of  others 
joined  to  clear  and  confident  assertion  of  his  own, 
gave  to  our  friend  an  extraordinary  influence 
everywhere.  His  love  had  edge  to  it,  his  kind 
ness  was  not  "  a  mush  of  concession."  A  strong 


SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY.  207 

man  on  whom  many  leaned,  he  was  a  sweet  man 
whom  every  one  loved.  His  disposition  was  fortu 
nate,  for  it  was  full  of  the  spirit  of  content.  He 
seemed,  more  than  most  men,  at  home  in  this 
world.  He  found,  or  made,  opportunities  of  use 
fulness  wherever  he  went.  He  sympathized  so 
heartily  with  all  about  him,  such  glad  interest  in 
their  affairs  beamed  from  his  eyes,  that  he  walked 
through  the  world  attended  by  hosts  of  friends. 
His  enemies  were  always  at  a  distance,  for  no 
man  could  come  near  him  without  being  instantly 
changed  into  a  friend.  Always  interested  in  some 
good  cause  "not  his  own,"  he  was  lifted  up  by 
the  greatness  of  the  subject,  and  walked  with 
larger  steps  in  the  transfiguration  of  that  idea. 
He  devoted  himself  through  life  to  the  cause  of 
the  slave,  of  peace,  of  education,  of  the  Christian 
church,  of  Unitarian  Christianity,  of  temperance, 
of  the  emancipation  of  woman,  —  and  carried  into 
all  the  same  wise  and  courageous  activity ;  always 
ready  to  speak  the  truth,  and  always  speaking  it 
in  love. 

Mr.  May  arrived  one  afternoon  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Henry  Colman,  at  Deerfield,  where  he  was  to 
pass  the  night.  It  was  in  the  height  and.  bitter 
ness  of  the  antislavery  conflict.  Mr.  Colman  met 
him  at  the  door,  and  said,  "  Oh,  Mr.  May,  I  hope 
you  will  not  speak  about  slavery  to-day.  We 
have  a  Southerner  staying  here,  who  is  very  irri 
table  ;  and  it  would  be  extremely  disagreeable  to 


208  SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY. 

have  a  dispute."  Mr.  May  replied,  "  I  shall  not 
introduce  the  subject,  but  if  my  opinion  is  asked 
I  must  give  it,  you  know.'1  He  had  scarcely  en 
tered,  and  taken  his  seat  next  to  the  Southern 
gentleman,  when  a  lady  on  the  other  side,  who 
knew  that  Mr.  May  had  just  come  from  an  anti- 
slavery  meeting,  asked  him  some  question  about 
it.  "  I  was  glad,"  said  he,  "  of  the  opportunity 
to  let  the  slaveholder  know  what  our  objects  really 
were,  and  so  I  told  the  lady  what  we  had  been 
doing  and  what  we  meant  to  do."  The  South 
erner  was  evidently  becoming  more  and  more  ex 
cited  every  moment,  and  at  last,  unable  to  control 
himself  any  longer,  he  cried  out,  "  And  what  busi 
ness  is  it  of  yours,  I  should  like  to  know,  what 
is  to  be  done  about  slavery  ?  It  is  our  affair,  not 
yours."  Whereupon  Mr.  May  turned  toward  him, 
and  asked  the  Southerner  whether  he  thought  it 
right  to  hold  a  man  as  a  slave.  As,  in  those  days, 
slaveholders  had  not  yet  been  taught  by  Chris 
tian  divines  to  defend  slavery  on  principle,  he  re 
plied,  "  No.  I  don't  believe  in  slavery  in  the 
abstract.  But  you  have  no  right  to  interfere  in 
the  matter."  On  this  Mr.  May  proceeded  to 
explain  that  the  abolitionists  did  not  propose  to 
interfere  in  any  other  way  than  by  reason  and  ar 
gument,  and  that  addressed  to  the  mind  and  con 
science  of  the  masters,  not  of  the  slave.  He 
added  that  it  was  not  only  every  man's  right  but 
also  his  duty  to  take  an  interest  in  the  sufferings 


SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY.  209 

and  wrongs  and  sins  of  his  fellow-men  —  no  mat 
ter  where  they  might  live,  or  how  far  off  they 
might  be.  In  fact,  he  communicated  so  many 
new  ideas  to  the  mind  of  the  Southerner,  and  did 
it  with  so  much  good-temper,  and  such  respect  for 
the  opinions  of  the  other,  that  at  last  the  man 
was  quite  overcome.  He  rose  from  his  chair, 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  much  excited ; 
and  then,  turning  to  Mr.  May,  said,  "  You  must 
not  think  as  badly  of  us  slaveholders  as  if  we 
had  been  brought  up  at  the  North,  where  slavery 
does  not  exist,  and  had  not  become  accustomed  to 
it."  "  Oh,  no!  "  answered  Mr.  May,  "  I  certainly 
can  make  great  allowance  for  your  situation.  I 
do  not  think  as  badly  of  you  as  if  you  had  al 
ways  breathed  an  atmosphere  of  freedom  ;  but  I 
should  think  very  badly  of  myself  if  I,  who  have 
been  always  taught  to  believe  in  liberty,  did  not 
do  all  I  could  to  promote  it,  here  and  everywhere 
else." 

At  another  time  Mr.  May  sent  a  note  to  his 
friend,  Rev.  Thomas  K.  Beecher,  of  Elmira, 
N.  Y.,  telling  him  that  he  knew  the  Beechers 
were  afraid  of  nothing,  but  that  now  he  could 
give  the  Beecher  courage  a  severe  trial.  "  I  write 
you,"  said  he,  "  to  exchange  pulpits  with  me,  who 
am  a  Unitarian,  a  non-resistant,  a  woman's  rights 
man,  an  anti-capital  punishment  man,  and  a  Gar- 
risonian  abolitionist."  To  this  Mr.  Beecher  re 
plied  :  "  Pooh,  pooh !  that  is  nothing.  Come  and 

14 


210  SAMUEL  JOSEPH  MAY. 

exchange."  Mr.  May  went  to  Elmira  and  preached, 
avoiding,  however,  the  questions  on  which  he  might 
be  supposed  to  differ  from  Mr.  Beecher. 

Such  anecdotes  as  these,  which  might  be  indef 
initely  multiplied,  will,  perhaps,  give  a  better  idea 
than  any  mere  description  of  the  charm  of  his 
character.  But,  in  truth,  no  words  can  adequately 
describe  it.  Fortunate  are  those  who  knew  him. 
They  will  never  cease  to  recall  that  wonderful 
union  of  qualities  which  gave  him  such  power  and 
made  him  so  great  an  influence  wherever  he  was 
known.  It  was  this  harmony  of  truth  and  love, 
manly  courage  and  a  womanly  gentleness,  mag 
nanimity  and  modesty,  which  gave  to  his  char 
acter  the  quality  of  greatness.  Because  of  this, 
the  people  of  the  city  where  he  lived  were  dis 
solved  in  tears  at  his  departure.  Well  might 
they  mourn  for  him  ;  not  soon  shall  such  another 
man  be  found.  Persons  gifted  with  more  splendid 
talents  are  not  very  rare ;  men  of  more  extensive 
attainments  are  not  infrequent.  But  he  is  to  be 
congratulated  who  once  in  his  life  comes  to  know 
a  man  like  Samuel  Joseph  May,  who  was  a  con 
servative  without  bigotry  and  a  radical  without 
narrowness ;  who  felt  all  wrong  done  to  others 
as  a  personal  injury,  and  yet  could  pardon  the 
offender;  who  was  full  of  sunshine,  radiant 
with  hope,  trusting  always  in  God,  and  believing 
always  in  man. 


X. 

SUSAN  DIMOCK. 


SUSAN  DIMOCK. 


WHEN  a  person  so  highly  gifted  and  accom 
plished  is  taken  away,  it  is  well  to  think  of  what 
she  has  been,  and  what  we  have  lost. 

One  of  our  eminent  surgeons,  Samuel  Cabot, 
said  to  me  yesterday :  "  This  community  will 
never  know  what  a  loss  it  has  had  in  Dr.  Dimock. 
It  was  not  merely  her  skill,  though  that  was  re 
markable,  considering  her  youth  and  limited  ex 
perience,  but  also  her  nerve,  that  qualified  her 
to  become  a  great  surgeon.  I  have  seldom  known 
one  at  once  so  determined  and  so  self-possessed. 
Skill  is  a  quality  much  more  easily  found  than 
this  self-control  that  nothing  can  flurry.  She  had 
that  in  an  eminent  degree  ;  and,  had  she  lived, 
she  would  have  been  sure  to  stand,  in  time,  among 
those  at  the  head  of  her  profession.  The  usual 
weapons  of  ridicule  would  have  been  impotent 
against  a  woman  who  had  reached  that  high  po 
sition  which  Susan  Dimock  would  certainly  have 
attained." 

The  striking  fact  about  Dr.  Dimock  was  that 


214  SUSAN  D I  MOCK. 

she  combined  energetic  determination  and  firm 
ness  with  extreme  feminine  gentleness.  Her  voice 
was  soft  and  low,  her  manners  refined  and  mod 
est  in  the  highest  degree.  In  speaking  of  her 
we  can  reverse  the  riddle  of  Samson,  and  say : 
"  Out  of  sweetness  came  forth  strength."  These 
qualities  made  her  services  invaluable  to  her  pa 
tients.  In  lecturing  to  her  students  she  said:  "  If 
I  were  obliged  in  my  practice  to  do  without  sym 
pathy  or  medicine,  I  should  say,  do  without  med 
icine."  She  did  not  care  to  have  any  woman  study 
medicine  who  was  naturally  unsympathetic.  One 
student  having  said  :  "  I  have  not  much  pity  for 
hysteric  patients,"  Dr.  Dimock  remarked :  "  If 
medical  science  is  not  yet  so  far  advanced  as  to 
discover  any  lesion  in  what  we  call  '  hysteria,'  this 
is  no  reason  why  we  should  have  no  sympathy 
with  those  thus  afflicted,  for  they  suffer  severely." 
Born  in  North  Carolina  in  1847,  she  early 
saw  the  evils  of  the  institution  of  slavery.  She 
once  said  to  her  mother,  "  I  arn  slow  to  take  an 
idea,  and  always  have  been.  I  was  eight  years 
old  before  I  realized  the  injustice  of  slavery." 
Most  of  her  fellow-citizens  were  much  older  than 
that  before  they  realized  it.  At  twelve  years  she 
told  her  father  that  she  wished  to  study  medicine 
and  become  a  physician.  As  her  family  were 
then  in  easy  circumstances,  and  lived  in  a  commu 
nity  where  no  woman  ever  worked  except  from 
necessity,  this  was  regarded  as  an  eccentricity. 


SUSAN  D1MOCK.  215 

But  she  had  formed  her  purpose,  and  adhered  to 
it.  When  about  thirteen  or  fourteen,  being  at  a 
watering-place,  she  was  observed  to  be  absorbed 
in  a  book ;  and  continued  sitting  in  the  corner  of 
the  piazza  reading  for  an  hour  or  more.  "  What 
interesting  story  has  Susie  got  ?  "  asked  one.  An 
old  physician,  standing  by,  replied  :  "  It  is  one 
of  my  medical  books,  which  I  have  lent  her;  and 
one  of  the  driest,  too." 

After  her  family  had  come  to  the  North  during 
the  rebellion,  she  pursued  her  studies  here,  and 
finally  applied  for  admission  into  the  Medical 
School  of  Harvard  University,  preferring,  if  pos 
sible,  to  take  a  degree  in  an  American  college. 
Twice  she  applied,  and  was  twice  refused.  Hear 
ing  that  the  University  of  Zurich  was  open  to 
women,  she  went  to  that  institution,  and  was  re 
ceived  with  a  hospitality  which  the  institutions  of 
her  own  country  did  not  offer.  She  pursued  her 
medical  studies  there,  and  graduated  with  honor. 
A  number  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  "  for 
August  1,  1872,  contains  an  article  called  "  Les 
Femmes  a  FUniversite  de  Zurich,"  which  speaks 
very  favorably  of  the  success  of  the  women  stu 
dents  in  that  place. 

The  first  to  take  a  degree  as  doctor  of  medi 
cine  was  a  young  Russian  lady,  in  1867.  Be 
tween  1867  and  1872,  five  others  had  taken  this 
degree,  and  the  article  speaks  of  them  as  all  suc 
cessfully  practicing  their  profession.  Among  these 


216  SUSAN  D 1 MOCK. 

was  Susan  Dimock  It  adds  :  "  It  will  be  seen 
that  the  attempt  made  in  Switzerland,  by  men 
emancipated  from  prejudice,  has  been  crowned 
with  a  striking  and  well-deserved  success.  It  had 
been  feared  that  the  promiscuous  character  of  an 
audience  composed  of  both  sexes  would  be  an 
embarrassment  to  the  professors,  or  even  occasion 
disagreeable  scenes.  Nothing  of  the  sort  has  oc 
curred.  The  modest  and  serious  attitude  of  the 
young  women  has,  on  the  contrary,  exercised  a 
happy  influence  on  the  tone  and  behavior  of  the 
other  students.  At  the  examinations  the  women 
have  obtained  high  marks,  and  in  hospital  prac 
tice  they  have  manifested  remarkable  aptitude  for 
their  work." 

From  the  medical  school  at  Zurich,  she  went 
to  that  at  Vienna  ;  and  of  her  appearance  there 
we  have  this  record :  A  distinguished  German 
physician  remarked  to  a  friend  of  mine  residing 
in  Germany,  that  he  had  always  been  opposed  to 
women  as  physicians  —  but  that  he  had  met  a 
young  American  lady  studying  at  Vienna,  whose 
intelligence,  modesty,  and  devotion  to  her  work 
was  such  as  almost  to  convince  him  that  he  was 
wrong.  A  comparison  of  dates  shows  that  this 
American  student  must  have  been  Dr.  Dimock. 

On  her  return  to  the  United  States,  Susan  Dim 
ock  took  the  position  of  resident  physician  at 
"  The  Hospital  for  Women  and  Children,"  on 
Codman  Avenue,  in  Boston.  Both  the  students  of 


SUSAN  D I  MOCK.  217 

medicine,  and  the  patients  became  devotedly  at 
tached  to  her.  They  were  fascinated  by  her  re 
markable  union  of  tenderness,  firmness,  and  skill. 
The  secret  of  her  influence  was  in  part  told  by 
what  she  said  in  one  of  her  lectures  in  the  train 
ing-school  for  nurses  connected  with  the  woman's 

O 

hospital :  "  I  wish  you,  of  all  my  instructions,  es 
pecially  to  remember  this.  When  you  go  to  nurse 
a  patient  imagine  that  it  is  your  own  sister  before 
you  in  that  bed  ;  and  treat  her,  in  every  respect, 
as  you  would  wish  your  own  sister  to  be  treated." 
While  at  this  hospital  she  was  also  able  to  carry 
out  a  principle  in  which  she  firmly  believed ; 
namely,  that  the  rights  of  every  patient,  poor  and 
rich,  should  be  sacredly  regarded,  and  never  be 
sacrificed  to  the  supposed  interests  of  medical  stu 
dents.  Except  with  the  consent  of  the  patient, 
no  students  were  allowed  to  be  present  at  any 
operation,  except  so  far  as  the  comfort  and  safety 
of  the  patient  rendered  their  presence  desirable. 
They  were  not  admitted  as  mere  spectators,  and 
she  applied  this  rule  to  the  patients  who  were  re 
ceived  gratuitously  as  well  as  to  those  who  paid 
their  board.  She  was  satisfied  that  this  system 
worked  well,  and  had  been  perfectly  successful, 
and  that  the  students  were  more  thoroughly  taught 
by  being  admitted  for  practical  services  than  by 
being  frequently  present  only  as  spectators. 

Her  interest  in  the  New  England  Hospital  was 
very  great.     She  was  in  the  habit,  at  the  begin- 


218  SUSAN  DIMOCK. 

ning  of  each  year,  of  writing  and  sealing  up  her 
wishes  for  the  coming  year.  Since  her  death  her 
mother  has  opened  the  envelope  of  January  1, 
1875,  and  found  it  to  contain  a  prayer  for  a  bless 
ing  on  "  my  dear  hospital." 

And  now,  this  young,  strong  soul,  so  ardent  in 
the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  so  filled  with  a  desire 
to  help  her  suffering  sisters,  has  been  taken  by 
the  remorseless  deep. 

It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark 

Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigged  with  curses  dark, 

That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

But  we  must  believe  that  there  is  some  higher 
purpose  in  such  events  than  we  can  see.  No  acci 
dent  of  a  fog  or  a  low  tide  explains  adequately 
the  departure  of  such  heroic  souls  as  these.  We 
cannot  doubt  that  there  is  as  good  work  for  them 
to  do  in  the  unknown  beyond  as  that  they  have 
left  here.  We  thank  God  for  all  we  have  had 
from  such  a  presence  among  us,  and  trust  in  his 
perfect  providence  in  regard  to  what  we  cannot 
understand  or  explain. 


XI. 

GEOKGE   KEA.TS. 


GEORGE   KEATS.1 


To  THE  EDITOR  OF  •'  THE  DIAL  " :  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  When  last  at  your  house  I  men 
tioned  to  you  that  I  had  in  my  possession  a  copy 
of  some  interesting  remarks  upon  Milton,  hitherto 
unpublished,  by  John  Keats  the  poet.  According 
to  your  wish  I  have  copied  them  for  your  periodi 
cal.  But  I  wish,  with  your  permission,  to  say 
how  they  came  into  my  possession  ;  and  in  doing 
this  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  of  giving  the  im 
perfect  tribute  of  a  few  words  of  remembrance  to 
a  noble-minded  man  and  a  dear  friend. 

Several  years  ago  I  went  to  Louisville,  Ky.,  to 
take  charge  of  the  Unitarian  church  in  that  city. 
I  was  told  that  among  those  who  attended  the 
church  was  a  brother  of  the  poet  Keats,  an  Eng 
lish  gentleman,  who  had  resided  for  many  years 
in  Louisville  as  a  merchant.  His  appearance  and 
the  shape  of  his  head  arrested  my  attention.  The 
heavy  bar  of  observation  over  his  eyes  indicated 

1  First  published  in  The  Dial,  then  edited  by  R.  W.  Emer 
son. 


222  GEORGE  KEATS. 

the  strong  perceptive  faculties  of  a  business  man, 
while  the  striking  height  of  the  head,  in  the  region 
assigned  by  phrenology  to  veneration,  was  a  sign 
of  nobility  of  sentiment,  and  the  full  development 
behind  marked  firmness  and  practical  energy.  All 
these  traits  were  equally  prominent  in  his  charac 
ter.  He  was  one  of  the  most  intellectual  men  I 
ever  knew.  I  never  saw  him  when  his  mind  was 
inactive.  I  seldom  knew  him  to  acquiesce  in  the 
thought  of  another.  It  was  a  necessity  of  his 
nature  to  have  his  own  thought  on  every  subject ; 
and  when  he  assented  to  your  opinion,  it  was  not 
acquiescence  but  agreement.  Joined  with  this 
energy  of  intellect  was  a  profound  intellectual 
modesty.  He  considered  himself  deficient  in  the 
higher  reflective  faculties,  especially  in  that  of  a 
philosophical  method.  But  his  keen  insight  en 
abled  him  fully  to  appreciate  what  he  did  not  him 
self  possess.  Though  the  tendency  of  his  intellect 
was  critical,  he  was  without  dogmatism,  and  full  of 
reverence  for  the  creative  faculties.  He  was  well 
versed  in  English  literature,  especially  in  that  of 
the  Elizabethan  period ;  a  taste  for  which  he  had 
probably  imbibed  from  his  brother  and  other  liter 
ary  friends,  among  whom  Leigh  Hunt  was  prom 
inent.  This  taste  he  preserved  for  years  in  a  re 
gion  where  few  could  be  found  who  had  so  much 
as  heard  the  names  of  his  favorite  authors.  The 
society  of  such  a  man  was  invaluable,  if  only  as  in 
tellectual  stimulus.  It  was  strange  to  find,  in  those 


GEORGE   KEATS.  223 

days,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio,  one  who  had  suc 
cessfully  devoted  himself  to  active  pursuits,  and 
yet  retained  so  fine  a  sensibility  for  the  rarest  and 
most  evanescent  beauties  of  early  song. 

The  intellectual  man  was  that  which  you  first 
discovered  in  George  Keats.  It  needed  a  longer 
acquaintance  before  you  could  perceive,  beneath 
the  veil  of  a  high-bred  English  reserve,  that  pro 
found  sentiment  of  manly  honor,  that  reverence 
for  all  truth,  loftiness,  and  purity,  that  ineffaceable 
desire  for  spiritual  sympathy,  which  are  the  birth 
right  of  those  in  whose  veins  flows  the  blood  of  a 
poetic  race.  George  Keats  was  the  most  manly 
and  self-possessed  of  men  —  yet  full  of  inward  as 
piration  and  conscious  of  spiritual  needs.  There 
was  no  hardness  in  his  strong  heart,  no  dogma 
tism  in  his  energetic  intellect,  no  pride  in  his  self- 
reliance.  Thus  he  was  essentially  a  religious  man. 
He  shrunk  from  pietism,  but  revered  piety. 

The  incidents  of  his  life  bore  the  mark  of  his 
character.  His  mind,  stronger  than  circumstances, 
gave  them  its  own  stamp,  instead  of  receiving 
theirs.  George  Keats,  with  his  two  younger 
brothers,  Thomas  and  John,  were  left  orphans  at 
an  early  age.  They  were  placed  by  their  guardian 
at  a  private  boarding  school,  where  the  impetuosity 
of  the  young  poet  frequently  brought  him  into 
difficulties  in  which  he  needed  the  brotherly  aid 
of  George.  John  was  very  apt  to  get  into  a  fight 
with  boys  much  bigger  than  himself,  and  George, 


224  GEORGE  KEATS. 

who  seldom  fought  on  his  own  account,  often  got 
into  a  battle  to  protect  his  brother.  These  early 
adventures  helped  to  bind  their  hearts  in  a  close 
and  lasting  affection. 

After  leaving  school,  George  was  taken  into  his 
guardian's  counting-room,  where  he  stayed  a  little 
while,  but  left  it,  because  he  did  not  choose  to 
submit  to  the  domineering  behavior  of  one  of  the 
partners.  Yet  he  preferred  to  bear  the  accusation 
of  being  unreasonable  rather  than  to  explain  the 
cause,  which  might  have  made  difficulty.  He 
lived  at  home,  keeping  house  with  his  two  broth 
ers,  and  doing  nothing  for  some  time,  waiting  till 
he  should  be  of  age,  and  should  receive  his  small 
inheritance.  Many  said  he  was  an  idle  fellow, 
who  would  never  come  to  any  good ;  but  he  felt 
within  himself  a  conviction  that  he  could  make  his 
way  successfully  through  the  world.  His  guard 
ian,  a  wise  old  London  merchant,  shared  this  opin 
ion,  and  always  predicted  that  George  would  turn 
out  well. 

His  first  act  on  coming  of  age  did  not  seem,  to 
the  worldly  wise,  to  favor  this  view.  He  married 
a  very  young  lady,  without  fortune,  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  British  colonel,  and  came  with  her  to 
America.  They  did  not,  however,  act  without 
reflection.  George  had  only  a  few  thousand  dol 
lars,  and  knew  that  if  he  remained  in  London  he 
could  not  be  married  for  years/  Nor  would  he  be 
able  to  support  his  wife  in  any  of  the  Atlantic 


GEORGE  KEATS.  225 

cities,  in  the  society  to  which  they  had  been  ac 
customed.  But  by  going  at  once  to  a  western 
State,  they  might  live,  without  much  society  to  be 
sure,  but  yet  with  comfort  and  the  prospect  of 
improving  their  condition.  Therefore  this  boy 
and  girl,  he  twenty-one  and  she  sixteen,  left  their 
home  and  friends  and  went  away  to  be  content  in 
each  other's  love  in  the  wild  regions  beyond  the 
Alleghanies.  Happy  is  he  whose  first  great  step 
in  the  world  is  the  result,  not  of  outward  influ 
ences,  but  of  his  own  well-considered  purpose. 
Such  a  step  seems  to  make  him  free  for  the  rest  of 
his  life. 

Journeys  were  not  made  in  those  days  as  they 
are  now.  Mr.  Keats  bought  a  carriage  and  horses 
in  Philadelphia,  with  which  he  traveled  to  Pitts- 
burg,  and  thence  descended  the  Ohio  in  a  keel-boat. 
This  voyage  of  six  hundred  miles  down  the  river 
was  full  of  romance  to  these  young  people.  No 
steamboat  then  disturbed,  with  its  hoarse  pant- 
ings,  the  sleep  of  those  beautiful  shores.  Day 
after  day  they  floated  tranquilly  on,  as  through  a 
succession  of  fairy  lakes,  sometimes  in  the  shadow 
of  the  lofty  and  wooded  bluff,  sometimes  by  the 
side  of  wide-spread  meadows,  or  beneath  the 
graceful  overhanging  branches  of  the  cotton-wood 
and  sycamore.  At  times,  while  the  boat  floated 
lazily  along,  the  young  people  would  go  ashore 
and  walk  through  the  woods  across  a  point  around 
which  the  river  made  a  bend.  All  uncertain  as 

15 


226  GEORGE  KEATS. 

their  prospects  were,  they  could  easily,  amid  tho 
luxuriance  of  nature,  abandon  themselves  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  hour. 

Mr.  Keats  stayed  some  months  in  Henderson, 
Ky.,  where  he  resided  in  the  same  house  with 
Audubon,  the  naturalist.  He  was  still  undeter 
mined  what  to  do.  One  day  he  was  trying  to 
chop  a  log,  and  Audubon,  who  had  watched  him 
for  some  time,  at  last  said,  "I  am  sure  you  will 
do  well  in  this  country,  Keats.  A  man  who  will 
persist,  as  you  have  been  doing,  in  chopping  that 
log,  though  it  has  taken  you  an  hour  to  do  what 
I  could  do  in  ten  minutes,  will  certainly  get  along 
here."  Mr.  Keats  said  that  he  accepted  the  omen, 
and  felt  encouraged  by  it. 

After  investing  a  large  part  of  his  money  in  a 
boat,  and  losing  it,  he  took  charge  of  a  flour  mill, 
and  worked  night  and  day  with  such  untiring 
energy  that  he  soon  found  himself  making  prog 
ress.  After  a  while  he  left  this  business  and 
engaged  in  the  lumber  trade,  by  which  in  a  few 
years  he  accumulated  a  handsome  fortune.  In 
the  course  of  this  business  he  was  obliged  to  make 
visits  to  the  lumberers,  which  often  led  him  into 
wild  scenes  and  adventures.  Once,  when  he  was 
taking  a  journey  on  horseback,  to  visit  some 
friends  on  the  British  Prairie,  in  Illinois,  he  ap 
proached  the  Wabash  in  the  afternoon,  at  a  time 
when  the  river  had  overflowed  its  banks.  Follow 
ing  the  horse  path,  for  there  was  no  carriage  road, 


GEORGE  KEATS.  227 

he  came  to  a  succession  of  little  lakes,  which  he 
was  obliged  to  ford.  But  when  he  reached  the 
other  side  it  was  impossible  to  find  the  path  again, 
and  equally  difficult  to  regain  it  by  recrossing 
The  path  here  went  through  a  cane-brake,  and 
the  cane  grew  so  close  together  that  the  track 
could  only  be  distinguished  when  you  were  act 
ually  upon  it.  What  was  to  be  done?  There 
was  no  human  being  for  miles  around,  and  no  one 
might  pass  that  way  for  weeks.  To  stop  or  to  go 
on  seemed  equally  dangerous.  But  at  last  Mr. 
Keats  discovered  the  following  expedient,  the  only 
one,  perhaps,  that  could  have  saved  him.  The 
direction  of  the  path  he  had  been  traveling  was 
east  and  west.  He  turned  and  rode  toward  the 
south  until  he  was  sure  that  he  was  to  the  south 
of  the  track.  He  then  returned  slowly  to  the 
north,  carefully  examining  the  ground  as  he  passed 
along,  until  at  last  he  found  himself  crossing  the 
path,  which  he  took,  and  reached  the  river  in 
safety. 

George  Keats  not  only  loved  his  brother  John, 
but  reverenced  his  genius  and  enjoyed  his  poetry, 
believing  him  to  belong  to  the  front  rank  of  Eng 
lish  bards.  Modern  criticism  concurs  with  this 
judgment.  A  genuine  and  discriminating  appre 
ciation  of  his  brother's  poetry,  from  any  one,  gave 
him  great  pleasure.  He  preserved  and  highly 
prized  John's  letters  and  unpublished  verses,  the 
copy  of  John's  Spenser  filled  with  his  marks, 


228  GEORGE   KEATS. 

which  he  had  read  when  a  boy,  and  which  had 
been  to  him  a  very  valuable  source  of  poetic  in 
spiration,  and  a  Milton  in  which  were  preserved 
in  a  like  manner  John's  notes  and  comments, 
which  appear  to  me  among  the  most  striking  crit 
icisms  we  possess  upon  this  great  author.  That 
the  love  of  the  brothers  was  mutual,  appears  from 
the  following  lines  from  one  of  John's  poems,  in 
scribed  "  To  my  brother  George  :  "  — 

"  As  to  my  sonnets,  though  none  else  should  heed  them , 
I  feel  delighted,  still,  that  you  should  read  them. 
Of  late,  too,  I  have  had  much  calm  enjoyment, 
Stretched  on  the  grass,  at  my  best  loved  employment, 
Of  scribbling  lines  to  you  "  — 

In  the  prime  of  life  and  the  midst  of  usefulness, 
George  Keats  passed  into  the  spiritual  world. 
The  city  of  Louisville  lost  in  him  one  of  its  most 
public-spirited  and  conscientious  citizens.  The 
Unitarian  society  of  that  place  lost  one  who, 
though  he  had  been  confirmed  by  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  was  too  honest  not  to  leave  the 
popular  and  fashionable  church  for  an  unpopular 
faith,  since  this  was  more  of  a  home  to  his  mind. 
For  myself,  I  have  ever  thought  that  it  was  quite 
worth  my  while  to  have  lived  in  Louisville,  even  if 
I  had  gained  thereby  nothing  but  the  knowledge 
and  friendship  of  such  a  man.  I  did  not  see  him 
in  his  last  days.  I  was  already  in  a  distant  region. 
But  when  he  died  I  felt  that  I  had  indeed  lost  a 
friend.  We  cannot  hope  to  find  many  such  in  this 


GEORGE  KEATS.  229 

world.  We  are  fortunate  if  we  find  any.  Yet  I 
could  not  but  believe  that  he  had  gone  to  find  his 
brother  again  among 

"  The  spirits  and  intelligences  fair, 
And  angels  waiting  on  the  Almighty's  chair." 

The  love  for  his  brother,  which  continued  through 
his  life  to  be  among  the  deepest  affections  of  his 
soul,  was  a  pledge  of  their  reunion  again  in  an 
other  world. 

Perhaps  I  have  spoken  too  much  of  one  who 
was  necessarily  a  stranger  to  most  of  your  readers. 
But  I  could  not  bear  that  he  should  pass  away 
and  nothing  be  said  to  tell  the  world  how  much 
went  with  him.  And  "  The  Dial,"  which  he 
always  read,  and  in  whose  aims  he  felt  a  deep 
interest,  though  not  always  approving  its  methods, 
seems  not  an  improper  place,  nor  this  a  wholly  un 
suitable  occasion,  for  thus  much  to  be  said  con 
cerning  GEORGE  KEATS. 


XII. 
EOBEET  J.   BEECXINEIDGE. 


ROBERT  JEFFERSON  BRECKINRIDGE. 


WHEN,  in  1836,  Robert  J.  Breckinridge  preached 
in  Louisville,  Kentucky,  I  thought  him  the  best 
extempore  preacher  I  had  ever  heard.  Matter 
and  manner  were  both  simple  and  strong.-  It  was 
like  the  direct,  earnest  conversation  which  one 
holds  with  you,  on  a  subject  of  which  his  mind 
and  heart  are  full.  He  never  hesitated  for  a 
word,  never  repeated  himself,  but  went  on  rap 
idly  and  easily  from  point  to  point,  like  Goethe's 
star,  "without  haste  and  without  rest."  There 
was  little  or  no  metaphor,  few  illustrations,  and 
nothing  of  the  ornate  style  and  oratorical  delivery 
which  were  very  popular  then  in  the  West.  Two 
favorite  speakers,  Mr.  Maffitt  and  Mr.  Bascom, 
had  lately  been  preaching  in  the  city,  and  draw 
ing  large  crowds  of  admirers.  Nothing  could  be 
more  opposed  to  their  florid  style  than  his  severe 
simplicity.  It  was  a  delight  to  me  to  listen  to 
him,  notwithstanding  the  vigor  of  his  orthodoxy  ; 
and  I  thought  it  showed  the  good  sense  of  the 
Kentuckians,  that,  though  caught  by  the  flowery 


234  ROBERT  J.   BRECKINRIDGE. 

grandiloquence  of  the  others,  they  yet  regarded 
Mr.  Breckinridge  as  one  of  their  finest  orators. 
It  is  evidence  of  good  taste  when  one  prefers  the 
early  English  pointed  architecture  to  the  flam 
boyant  style  of  later  centuries. 

And  the  Kentuckians  in  those  days  were  good 
judges  of  public  speaking.  They  did  not  read 
books,  and  had  very  little  of  the  culture  which 
derives  from  literature  —  but  they  were  passion 
ately  fond  of  good  speech.  They  assembled  in 
great  -numbers  at  the  political  barbecues,  where, 
under  the  shadows  of  the  majestic  beeches  and 
tulip  trees  of  the  Kentucky  forest,  they  spent 
long  summer  days  in  hearing  Whig  and  Demo 
cratic  speakers  discuss  questions  of  public  polity. 
They  then  had  an  opportunity  of  hearing  both 
sides  ;  and  speakers  of  both  parties  spoke  to  both 
parties.  Members  of  Congress  were  called  upon 
to  explain  to  their  constituents  their  course  in 
Congress,  and  must  answer  on  the  spot  the  most 
trying  questions.  This  educated  a  race  of  stump- 
speakers,  of  whom  the  tradition  long  lingered  in 
Kentucky,  —  men  like  the  famous  Joseph  Hamil 
ton  Daviess,  prompt,  clear,  and  confident,  —  who 
could 

"Bend,  like  perfect  steel,  to  spring  again  and  thrust." 

And,  among  these  ready  speakers  of  his  own  day, 
Robert  J.  Breckinridge  stood  easily  the  chief,  and 
was  accounted  the  best  stump-speaker  in  Ken 
tucky. 


ROBERT  J.  BRECKINRIDGE.  235 

Mr.  Breckinridge  and  his  brothers,  John  and 
William  L.,  were  all  originally  lawyers,  and  all 
afterward  became  Presbyterian  ministers.  The 
gift  of  fine  extemporaneous  speech  belonged  to 
all  three.  In  John  there  was  perhaps  more  of 
illustration  and  more  appearance  of  emotion  than 
Robert.  Both  were  full  of  fire,  but  in  John  it 
appeared  in  lambent  flames,  while  in  Robert  it 
was  a  central  force,  on  which  his  whole  nature 
rested.  I  once  was  listening  to  John  Breckin 
ridge,  and  as  I  sat  directly  in  front  of  the  pulpit 
he  could  not  help  seeing  me,  and,  knowing  me  no 
doubt  as  the  Unitarian  minister  of  the  place,  he 
took  occasion  to  denounce  all  those  who  taught 
Unitarian  doctrines  as  men  "  dripping  with  the 
blood  of  souls."  No  doubt  he  believed  it,  and  he, 
like  his  brothers,  always  had  u  the  courage  of  his 
opinions."  But  afterward,  in  New  Orleans,  visit 
ing  a  dying  lady,  a  relative  of  his  own,  and  a 
warm  Unitarian,  finding  that,  notwithstanding 
her  heresy,  her  faith  in  Christ  was  sincere  and 
strong,  the  good  man  forgot  his  theology,  and 
said,  "  If  you  feel  so,  cousin,  I  have  nothing  to 
say  against  your  faith."  Robert  J.  Breckinridge 
was  as  brave  as  a  lion,  and  his  chivalric  nature 
led  him  always  to  take  part  with  the  oppressed. 
A  relative  of  his,  an  older  man,  told  me  this  an 
ecdote,  which  belongs  to  the  period  before  he 
became  a  preacher.  They  were  riding  together, 
on  horseback,  on  their  way  to  Frankfort,  Ken- 


236  ROBERT  J.   BRECKINRIDGE. 

tucky,  and  as  they  approached  the  city  they  came 
up  with  a  wagoner  who  was  cruelly  abusing  a 
negro  boy.  Mr.  Breckinridge  rode  up  to  him, 
and  asked  him  why  he  treated  the  boy  in  that 
way.  The  wagoner  replied  by  a  curse  and 
threat,  which,  however,  were  no  sooner  out  of  his 
mouth  than  Mr.  Breckinridge  responded  by  ad 
ministering  to  him  a  severe  beating,  cutting  him 
about  the  face  with  his  riding-whip,  so  that  the 
ruffian  ran,  got  on  one  of  his  horses,  and  rode 
away.  Then  my  friend  said  to  Mr.  Breckinridge, 
"  The  fellow  has  got  what  he  deserved,  but  it  be 
comes  us  to  go  into  Frankfort  as  soon  as  possible, 
for  he  has  gone  back  to  get  that  party  of  wagon 
ers  whom  we  passed  half  a  mile  back."  So  they 
rode  on  toward  Frankfort  —  but  as  they  descended 
the  long  hills  which  surround  the  place,  fast  rid 
ing  was  difficult,  for  these  hills  are  of  limestone, 
lying  in  horizontal  strata,  which  crop  out,  making 
the  descent  like  a  flight  of  steps.  When  about 
half-way  down  they  heard  a  loud  noise  behind, 
and  found  that  half  a  dozen  wagoners  were  com 
ing  on  after  them,  full  speed,  in  one  of  their  wag 
ons.  Dangerous  or  not,  they  were  obliged  to  ride 
down  the  hill  at  the  same  pace,  and  just  suc 
ceeded  in  escaping  their  pursuers. 

The  same  courage  and  energy  were  shown  by 
Mr.  Breckinridge,  afterward,  on  a  more  important 
field.  He,  with  Drs.  Junkin,  Plumer,  Baxter, 
and  others,  led  the  Old  School  party  in  the  Gen- 


ROBERT  J.   BRECKINRIDGE.  237 

eral  Assembly  when  they  cut  off  four  Synods, 
containing  some  forty  thousand  members  —  a  step 
which  caused  the  disruption  of  the  church.  The 
pretext  for  cutting  off  these  Synods  was  some 
alleged  unconstitutionally  in  their  original  union. 
But  as  they  had  remained  in  the  church  without 
objection  for  thirty-seven  years,  it  is  not  likely 
they  would  have  been  removed  if  they  had  been 
considered  as  orthodox.  But  these  New  York 
and  Ohio  Synods  were  tainted  with  New  School 
heresies.  So  Mr.  Breckinridge,  a  Calvinist  gen 
uine  and  sincere,  if  there  ever  was  one,  considered 
it  necessary  to  save  the  church  at  all  hazards  from 
the  poison  of  these  heresies.  Under  his  splendid 
captaincy  the  deed  was  done,  and  the  victory 
was  gained  for  Calvinism  pure  and  simple. 

But  another  generation  has  now  come,  which 
knows  not  Joseph.  The  interest  in  those  severe 
discussions  has  died  away,  and  many  will  wonder 
why  such  a  vehement  controversy  should  have 
raged  around  such  abstract  and  purely  metaphys 
ical  questions.  The  principal  "  error "  of  the 
New  School  men,  and  one  which  was  denounced 
as  being  equivalent  to  "  another  gospel,"  was 
this :  - 

"  That  God  would  have  prevented  the  existence  of  sin 
in  our  world,  but  was  not  able,  without  destroying  the 
moral  agency  of  man ;  or,  that  for  aught  that  appears  in 
the  Bible  to  the  contrary,  sin  is  incidental  to  any  wise 
moral  system." 


238  ROBERT  J.   BRECK1NRIDGE. 

The  substance  of  the  dispute  was  just  at  this 
point.  The  New  School  divines  said  that  God 
would  have  prevented  sin,  but  could  not  do  it. 
The  Old  School  said  He  could  have  prevented  sin, 
but  would  not.  But  when  the  latter  were  asked 
why  God  would  not,  they  gave  the  same  answer 
as  their  opponents  —  "  Because  God  chose  that 
man  should  be  a  free  agent."  The  only  difference 
between  the  "  Could  nots  "  and  "  Would  nots," 
therefore,  was  as  to  which  phrase  should  come 
first  in  the  statement.  And  on  this  point  the 
church  was  divided. 

But  give  due  credit  even  to  bigotry.  These 
excommunicating  chiefs  were  narrow,  were  one 
sided,  were  intolerant,  but  they  were  logical  and 
sincere.  When  you  once  adopt  the  principle  that 
any  theological  statement  is  essential  to  salvation, 
it  is  difficult  to  know  where  to  stop.  To  draw 
the  line  between  essentials  and  non-essentials  is 
difficult ;  for  to  a  logical  mind  every  part  of  a 
system  is  essential  to  the  integrity  of  the  whole. 

No  doubt  R.  J.  Breckinridge  was  a  born  fighter, 
—  a  man  of  war  from  his  youth.  He  snuffed  the 
battle  afar  off,  and  rejoiced  in  the  conflict.  A 
sincere  antislavery  man,  though  born  and  raised 
in  the  midst  of  slave-holders,  he  remained  true  to 
his  convictions  when  other  men  fell  away,  and  the 
love  of  many  waxed  cold.  I  remember  the  time 
when  all  the  leading  men  in  Kentucky,  Whigs 
and  Democrats,  with  few  exceptions,  were  op- 


ROBERT  J.   BRECKINRIDGE.  239 

posed  to  slavery,  and  declared  themselves  in  favor 
of  amending  the  State  Constitution  by  inserting 
an  antislavery  clause.  But  when  a  convention 
was  called  in  the  State  to  form  a  new  Constitution, 
the  great  majority  of  these  theoretical  antislavery 
men  were  afraid  to  act.  Not  so  Robert  J.  Breck- 
inridge.  During  three  long  summer  days  he 
stood  in  front  of  the  court  house  in  Lexington, 
maintaining  against  all  opponents  that  the  inter 
ests  of  Kentucky,  no  less  than  its  conscience,  re 
quired  the  abolition  of  slavery.  It  was  like  a 
knightly  tournament,  only  in  a  nobler  cause,  and 
fought  with  better  weapons.  He  wrestled  not 
against  flesh  and  blood,  but  against  the  rulers  of 
the  darkness  of  this  world,  and  spiritual  wicked 
ness  in  high  places.  Well  would  it  have  been  for 
Kentucky  if  she  had  listened  to  that  manly  voice, 
and  been  led  by  that  commanding  eloquence.  She 
then  would  have  been  the  advanced  fortress  of  the 
Free  States  during  the  war,  and  would  not  have 
been  ravaged  alternately  by  the  opposing  armies. 
She  would  not  have  seen  her  families  divided, 
son  against  father,  and  brother  fighting  against 
brother.  She  would  not  have  had  that  still  worse 
record,  that  in  the  greatest  conflict  of  the  age  for 
truth  and  freedom,  she  alone  of  all  the  States  pre 
ferred  to  remain  neutral. 

In  that  great  conflict,  also,  Robert  J.  Breckin- 
ridge  was  true  to  himself  and  his  ideas.  Amid 
the  falling  away  on  all  sides,  of  those  most  near 


240  ROBERT  "J.    BRECK1NRIDGE. 

and  dear,  the  old  man  stood  by  the  flag  of  the 
Union.  He  saw  his  fields  and  home  repeatedly 
ravaged  by  the  rebel  troops  ;  he  saw  disaster  after 
disaster  fall  on  the  Union  arms ;  he  saw  his  old 
friends  leaving  him,  but  he  remained  firm  and 
true  to  the  end. 

'  Among  innumerable  false,  unmoved, 
Unshaken,  unseduced,  unterrified, 
His  loyalty  he  kept,  his  love,  his  zeal ; 
Nor  number,  nor  example,  with  him  wrought 
To  swerve  from  truth,  or  change  his  constant  mind 
Though  single.     From  amidst  them  forth  he  passed, 
Long  way  through  hostile  scorn,  which  he  sustained, 
Superior,  nor  of  violence  feared  aught ; 
And  with  retorted  scorn,  his  back  he  turned 
On  those  proud  towers  to  swift  destruction  doomed." 

Mr.  Breckinridge  was,  as  we  have  said,  in  some 
things  narrow  and  intolerant.  But  he  had  a  can 
did  mind,  and  if  convinced  of  an  error  was  willing 
to  acknowledge  it  —  if  he  saw  good  in  an  oppo 
nent,  was  glad  to  admit  it.  In  a  journey  through 
Europe,  about  the  year  1836-7,  he  came  to  Ge 
neva,  and  there  became  acquainted  with  the 
Venerable  Company  of  Pastors,  and  heard  them 
preach  in  the  cathedral.  He  frankly  confessed 
his  "great  surprise  and  sincere  delight  "  in  hear 
ing  the  Scripture  expounded  "  with  clearness, 
truth,  and  fervor."  "  I  had,  also,"  he  says,  "  the 
pleasure  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  two  of  the 
Venerable  Company  of  Pastors,  whose  kindness 
deserved  my  thanks,  as  much  as  their  intelligence 


ROBERT  J.  BRECK1NRIDGE.  241 

excited  my  interest.  And,  in  general,  I  think 
the  lives  of  that  body  are,  in  private,  blameless  to 
a  degree  not  common  either  in  most  established 
churches  or  decided  errorists." 

One  more  little  anecdote,  which  we  heard  in 
Western  Pennsylvania.  An  elder  of  the  Presby 
terian  church,  in  the  town  of  Butler,  wished  one 
Saturday  to  go  to  Pittsburg  on  business  of  im 
portance.  The  stage  from  Erie  came  through  so 
full  that  he  could  get  no  seat,  but  presently  there 
followed  an  extra  stage,  containing  only  one  gen 
tleman  and  two  ladies.  He  asked  permission  of 
the  gentleman  to  take  a  seat  and  was  permitted 
to  do  so.  As  he  rode  on,  he  allowed  his  hand 
carelessly  to  drop  on  some  flowers  belonging  to 
the  ladies,  which  were  in  a  pot  beside  him.  This 
happened  once  or  twice,  notwithstanding  the  re 
quest  of  the  original  traveler  to  the  church  elder, 
to  be  more  cautious.  At  last  he  said :  "  Sir  !  I 
have  permitted  you  to  take  a  seat  with  us  because 
you  said  you  were  anxious  to  reach  Pittsburg, 
but  you  shall  leave  the  stage  if  you  touch  those 
flowers  again,  even  if  I  have  to  put  you  out  my 
self."  This  made  a  little  "  unpleasantness  "  for 
the  rest  of  the  journey.  The  elder  did  his  busi 
ness  and  then  went  to  a  friend's  house,  who  said  : 
"It  is  fortunate  that  you  came  to-day,  for  to 
morrow  we  have  the  celebrated  Robert  J.  Breck- 
inridge  to  preach  for  us."  The  elder  went  to 
church,  and  saw  in  the  pulpit  his  stage-coach  corn- 
is 


242  ROBERT  J.   BRECKINRIDGE. 

panion,  and  found  that  he  had  used  his  excellent 
opportunity  for  becoming  well  acquainted  with 
Hobert  J.  Breckinridge  by  making  himself  spe 
cially  disagreeable  to  him. 

Sleep  peacefully  in  thy  grave,  good  soldier  of 
the  cross.  We  who  are  fighting  in  another  camp, 
to  which  thou  wert  not  very  friendly,  can  see  and 
admire  generous,  brave,  and  honest  qualities,  and 
force  of  intellect  and  character,  even  in  an  op 
ponent  ;  and  we  lay  this  tribute  on  thy  coffin  :  Sit 
tibi  terra  levis  ! 


XIII. 
GEOEGE    DENTSO]^  PEENTIOE. 


GEORGE  DENISON  PRENTICE  AND 
KENTUCKY  FORTY  YEARS  AGO. 


IT  was  in  the  summer  of  1833,  being  then  a 
youth  fresh  from  the  divinity  school,  that  I  first 
saw  the  Ohio  River  at  Wheeling — a  river  which 
afterwards  became  as  familiar  to  me  in  its  quiet 
beauty  as  the  hills  of  my  native  New  England. 
The  journey  from  Boston  to  Cincinnati  occupied  a 
week.  Most  of  it  then,  and  during  many  years 
after,  had  to  be  performed  by  the  stage-coach,  the 
usual  rate  of  travel  being  only  three  or  four  miles 
an  hour.  The  roads  were  horrible  —  on  the  sides  of 
the  hills  cut  into  deep  gullies  by  the  rain,  and  on 
the  level  surface  frequently  made  almost  impassable 
by  mud  and  pools  of  water.  The  rich,  black  soil 
which  was  a  blessing  to  farmers,  was  a  curse  to 
travelers.  In  order  to  arrive  at  our  journey's  end 
in  any  reasonable  period,  it  was  necessary  to  travel 
all  night  as  well  as  all  day;  and  I  have  some 
times  ridden  in  this  way  five  days  and  nights, 
only  stopping  for  meals.  In  the  night  time  the 
dangers  of  the  road  were  aggravated  by  the  dark- 


246  GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE. 

ness.  It  was  not  the  custom  to  carry  lamps,  and 
the  tall  forests  rising  close  to  the  road  on  either 
side  would,  especially  in  a  rainy  night,  create  an 
impenetrable  darkness.  Then,  if  the  wheel  sank 
suddenly  into  a  hole,  or  ran  over  a  stump,  the 
stage  would  be  overturned,  and  it  would  take  a 
long  time  to  get  it  up  again.  Once,  in  the  mid 
dle  of  Ohio,  at  midnight,  the  stage  was  thus 
overturned  into  a  deep  mud-hole  in  the  midst  of 
pitchy  darkness  :  and  the  passengers,  men  and 
women,  were  pulled  from  the  inside  through  the 
door  which  was  uppermost.  Nothing  could  be 
done  but  to  sit  on  the  side  of  the  coach  in  the 
rain,  and  wait,  while  the  driver  went  for  help  to 
the  nearest  house.  On  another  occasion  the  dark 
ness  was  so  profound  that  the  horses  wandered 
away  into  the  woods,  the  driver  being  unable  to 
see  which  way  they  were  going.  At  last  they 
stopped,  and  would  go  no  farther.  Then  a  light 
was  procured,  and  it  was  found  that  the  coach 
and  horses  were  standing  on  the  top  of  a  little  hill 
in  the  middle  of  the  woods,  at  a  considerable  dis 
tance  from  the  road.  At  another  time  the  stage 
overturned  at  noon-day,  when  the  horses  were 
slowly  walking  down  a  hill.  The  road  had  been 
so  gullied  by  the  rain  that  there  was  absolutely 
no  place  left  where  the  coach  could  stand  upright. 
Sometimes,  in  crossing  the  mountains,  the  passen 
gers  would  get  out  and  walk,  and  they  would  walk 
so  much  faster  than  the  horses  that  it  would  often 
be  an  hour  or  two  before  they  were  overtaken. 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  247 

On  my  first  visit  to  the  West  I  went  over  the 
old  Cumberland  road  to  Wheeling.  The  present 
generation  is  ignorant  of  the  controversy  which 
raged  in  regard  to  this  avenue  between  the  East 
and  the  West.  The  vast  subsidies  in  land  and 
money  which  have  since  that  time  been  made 
to  railroads  by  the  United  States  government, 
make  the  grants  to  the  Cumberland  road  seem 
quite  insignificant.  But  this  was  a  project  of 
Henry  Clay  and  the  Whig  party,  and  so  was  vio 
lently  opposed  by  the  Democrats.  It  was  simply 
a  macadamized  road  running  from  Cumberland  in 
Maryland  to  Columbus  in  Ohio.  At  the  time  I 
passed  over  it,  it  was  in  a  terrible  state,  the  large 
stones  from  beneath  having  worked  up,  and  the 
small  ones  worked  down,  so  that  it  seemed  uncer 
tain  to  the  traveler  whether  he  was  riding  in  a 
coach  or  being  tossed  in  a  blanket. 

The  Ohio  River,  as  is  well  known,  is  apt  to  be 
very  low  in  summer.  According  to  John  Ran 
dolph's  saying,  it  is  "  frozen  up  during  half  the 
year,  and  dried  up  during  the  other  half."  In 
descending  the  river,  therefore,  we  continually 
struck  on  sand-bars.  In  order  to  get  off,  the  first 
effort  was  to  reverse  the  wheels  and  try  to  back 
off.  That  failing,  a  strong  rope  was  carried  to 
the  shore,  made  fast  to  a  tree  there,  and  to  the 
windlass  on  board,  and  attempts  were  thus  made 
to  pull  the  boat  off.  If  these,  also,  were  fruitless, 
they  put  spars  from  the  bow  against  the  bottom 


248  GEORGE  D.   PRENTICE. 

of  the  river,  and,  by  means  of  tackle,  tried  to  lift 
the  vessel  backward  into  the  water.  But  if  nothing 
else  would  answer  they  were  obliged  at  last  to  bring 
flat-boats  to  the  side  and  take  out  the  cargo.  All 
this,  of  course,  caused  great  delay  and  protracted 
the  voyage.  But  the  river  was  so  lovely,  with  the 
high  bluffs  on  one  side,  covered  with  unbroken 
forests,  and  the  broad  meadows  on  the  other,  cov 
ered  with  farms  and  fields,  with  its  long  reaches 
of  blue  water,  like  a  succession  of  quiet  lakes,  that 
one  could  well  be  content  to  loiter  for  a  long  pe 
riod  upon  its  bewitching,  quiet  current. 

When  I  first  reached  Louisville,  George  D. 
Prentice  had  been  editing  the  "  Louisville  Jour 
nal  "  for  about  two-  years.  This  was  a  Whig 
paper,  and  constantly  engaged  in  fierce  conflict 
with  its  Democratic  rival,  the  "  Advertiser,"  ed 
ited  by  Shadrach  Penn.  The  bitterness  of  news 
paper  strife  in  those  days  was  fearful.  The  last 
Whig  editor  had  been  driven  from  the  town  by 
the  violent  assaults  of  his  opponents.  Mr.  Pren 
tice,  when  he  arrived,  was  only  known  as  a  young 
man  from  Connecticut,  who  had  written  some 
pretty  poems  of  the  sentimental  order.  Mr.  Penn 
no  doubt  supposed  that  it  would  be  very  easy  to 
crush  him.  Then  commenced  an  editorial  war 
fare,  which  was  in  full  operation  when  I  arrived. 
Every  morning  each  newspaper  would  contain  a 
leading  article  devoted  to  the  destruction  of  the 
antagonist  editor.  They  accused  each  other, 


GEORGE  D.   PRENTICE.  249 

mutually,  of  the  blackest  crimes.  If  we  were  to 
believe  their  statements,  both  of  them  should  be 
sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  life.  Each  had  swin 
dled  his  creditors,  committed  manifold  breaches 
of  trust,  deserted  his  family,  slandered  the  good, 
lived  a  life  of  drunkenness  and  debauchery,  and 
probably  committed  many  murders.  Each  was 
declared  to  be  black  with  falsehood,  corrupted  by 
a  life  of  infamy,  and  without  a  single  decent  asso 
ciate  or  friend.  The  Dictionary  was  searched  to 
find  abusive  epithets,  nor  was  it  searched  in  vain. 
This  was  the  entertainment  which  during  a  year 
or  two  was  served  up  at  every  breakfast  table  in 
the  city,  with  the  coffee  and  rolls.  The  question 
was,  which  would  hold  out  the  longest.  And 
that  question  was  finally  decided  in  favor  of  Pren 
tice.  He  did  not  exceed  Penn  in  virulence  or 
violence,  but  he  had  more  imagination.  He  could 
invent  more  libels  and  tell  more  astonishing  sto 
ries  about  Penn  than  Penn  could  about  him.  The 
poetic  faculty,  hitherto  occupied  in  writing  news 
paper  stanzas,  was  now  employed  to  invent  new 
stories  of  infamous  rascality  about  his  rival.  So 
Shadrach  came  one  day  to  see  Prentice,  and  pro 
posed  that  they  should  stop  abusing  each  other; 
to  which  Prentice  agreed,  and  the  city  had  rest 
from  their  billingsgate. 

As  the  Democratic  leaders  found  that  this  brill 
iant  Whig  editor  was  not  to  be  silenced  by  de 
nunciation  and  abuse,  they  tried  to  put  him  down 


250  GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE. 

by  terror.  He  was  only  a  Yankee,  and  Yankees 
were  supposed  not  to  fight  duels  ;  nor  are  Yankees 
accustomed  to  street  fights.  He  was  known  chiefly 
as  a  writer  of  sentimental  verses  in  the  style  of 
Nathaniel  Willis.  They  thought  he  would  be  an 
easy  victim.  By  no  means.  He  was  more  than  a 
match  for  them  at  their  own  favorite  weapons. 
He  was  perfectly  willing  to  fight,  and  after  one 
or  two  duels  and  a  few  street  fights,  in  which  his 
opponents  generally  got  the  worst,  they  decided  to 
let  him  alone.  Once  I  saw  a  great  crowd  rush 
ing  together  on  Jefferson  Street,  and  running  up, 
found  that  a  man,  after  meeting  Prentice,  had 
turned  around  and  fired  a  pistol  at  his  back.  But, 
with  his  usual  good  luck,  Prentice  happened  to 
turn  round  at  the  moment  the  pistol  was  dis 
charged,  and  so  escaped  the  ball.  He  ran  upon 
the  assassin,  knocked  him  down,  jumped  on  him, 
took  out  his  knife  and  seemed  inclined  to  stab 
him,  but  when 'the  crowd  shouted:  "Kill  him, 
Prentice  !  "  he  changed  his  mind,  and  let  the  man 
go.  The  angry  crowd,  who  were  all  fond  of  Pren 
tice,  pursued  the  terrified  wretch  with  yells,  and 
he  only  escaped  by  jumping,  head -foremost,  like 
a  harlequin,  through  a  glass  window. 

A  man  named  Moore,  living  in  Harrodsburg, 
was  running  for  Congress  on  the  Democratic 
ticket.  Prentice  vilified  him  every  day  in  the 
"Journal"  until  it  made  his  life  a  burden.  So 
he  came  down  to  Louisville,  and  challenged  Pren- 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  251 

tice  to  fight  a  duel.  Prentice  readily  accepted  the 
challenge,  and  proposed  to  fight  with  rifles  at 
thirty  yards.  Moore  replied  that  as  his  arm  was 
lame  he  could  not  support  the  weight  of  a  rifle 
unless  he  was  allowed  a  rest.  Prentice  responded 
that  if  he  let  him  rest  his  gun  on  a  tree  he  would 
be  sure  to  hide  behind  the  trunk,  which  was  not 
to  be  allowed  ;  but  he  would  propose  the  follow 
ing  terms  :  Two  posts  should  be  driven  into  the 
ground  a  few  feet  apart,  in  front  of  each  combat 
ant,  and  a  strong  cord  fastened  from  pole  to  pole, 
at  the  proper  height,  to  serve  for  a  rest.  Each  man 
should  be  placed  behind  this  cord,  with  his  rifle 
at  his  left  side,  with  its  but  on  the  ground.  When 
the  word  "  Fire  "  was  given,  he  should  raise  his 
rifle  and  fire,  either  from  the  rest  or  otherwise, 
as  he  should  prefer.  After  firing  the  rifle,  each 
might  take  a  double-barrelled  gun,  which  should 
be  lying  on  the  ground  by  his  side,  the  barrels 
loaded  with  fifteen  slugs  each,  and  fire  it  when 
and  as  he  chose.  They  should  then  close  with 
bowie-knives.  This  terrific  programme  had  the 
effect  which  was  probably  intended  —  Mr.  Moore 
went  back  to  Harrodsburg,  and  said  no  more 
about  fighting. 

In  those  days  street  fights  and  duels  were  nor 
mal  facts  of  Kentucky  life.  By  preaching  a  ser 
mon  against  duelling  I  excited  much  wonder 
among  the  solid  and  serious  citizens.  Old  Judge 
Rowan,  the  famous  advocate  and  senator,  ex- 


252  GEORGE  D.   PRENTICE. 

pressed  his  astonishment  that  I  should  speak 
against  duels.  "  He  might  just  as  well  preach 
against  courage,"  said  he.  Judge  Rowan  was  a 
good  friend  of  mine,  used  to  come  to  church,  and 
talk  to  me  often  about  Lactantius  and  other  Latin 
writers,  whom  he  was  fond  of  reading.  The  judge 
was  also  fond  of  high  play,  and  many  stories  were 
told  of  his  exploits  in  that  direction.  The  peo 
ple's  consciences  were  not  disturbed  by  what 
would  seem  grave  delinquencies  to  Eastern  men. 
Many  respectable  people  never  thought  of  pay 
ing  their  debts.  It  did  not  seem  to  them  worth 
while  to  do  so.  Others,  very  estimable  in  other 
ways,  would  win  or  lose  a  fortune  at  brag  or 
poker,  with  a  charming  feeling  of  innocence  in  re 
gard  to  such  transactions.  To  have  a  spree,  or 
fit  of  drunkenness  of  two  or  three  days'  duration, 
did  not  disqualify  a  man  from  moving  in  good 
society.  Some  Mississippi  gentlemen  on  a  visit  to 
Louisville  attacked  and  slew  two  or  three  tailors 
in  the  bar-room  of  the  Gait  House,  in  a  quarrel 
about  a  badly-cut  coat.  This  murder  was  utterly 
unprovoked  and  barbarous,  but  the  murderers 
were  so  well  defended  by  Judge  Rowan  that  they 
escaped  unpunished,  although  the  prosecuting  of 
ficer  was  assisted  by  the  equally  celebrated  Ben 
Hardin.  But  public  sentiment  was  wholly  in 
favor  of  the  Mississippi  murderers.  What  Avould 
the  world  come  to  if  a  Mississippi  slave-holder 
was  not  allowed  to  murder  a  tailor  or  two,  once 


GEORGE  D.   PRENTICE.  253 

in  a  while?  The  most  fashionable  ladies  sent 
flowers  and  pleasant  little  dinners  to  these  perse 
cuted  gentlemen  while  in  prison,  and  crowded  the 
court-room  on  the  day  of  trial.  In  the  face  of  so 
much  beauty,  desiring  their  acquittal,  what  chival- 
ric  Kentucky  jury  would  venture  to  convict  them? 
The  Mississippians  went  home  in^  triumph,  pre 
pared  to  kill  more  tailors  if  they  should  find  it  ex 
pedient  to  do  so.  But  I  was  not  sorry  to  hear  that 
Judge  Rowan  never  received  from  them  the  large 
fee  which  they  had  promised  to  him  before  the  trial. 

One  morning  John  Howard  Payne,  who  was 
traveling  through  the  West,  and  had  brought  me 
a  letter,  came  to  my  room  and  said  :  "I  have  seen 
a  great  variety  of  life,  but  never  anything  exactly 
like  this  society  in  Louisville.  I  was  last  night  at 
a  ball  at  the  house  of  Judge  Rowan.  In  the  same 
cotillion  were  dancing  a  son  of  the  judge,  Mr. 
Thomas  F.  Marshall,  and  two  ladies  to  whom 
these  gentlemen  are  said  to  be  respectively  en 
gaged.  Every  one  in  the  room  knew  that  Rowan 
and  Marshall  were  to  fight  a  duel  in  the  course 
of  a  \veek,  which  would  probably  result  in  the 
death  of  one  or  both  ;  but  no  one  showed  any 
surprise,  and  all  was  pleasant  on  the  surface." 

The  story  of  this  duel  illustrates  the  features  of 
society  at  that  period.  The  judges  of  the  courts 
were  paid  such  small  salaries  that  no  good  lawyer 
would  accept  the  position  ;  consequently  the  judges 
had  little  influence,  and  were  treated  with  small 


254  GEORGE  D.   PRENTICE. 

respect  by  the  bar.  One  day  the  judge  of  the 
Jefferson  county  district,  considering  himself  in 
sulted  by  a  lawyer,  one  Colonel  Robertson  from 
Virginia,  committed  him  to  the  county  jail  for 
twenty-four  hours.  The  bar,  thereupon,  agreed 
to  go  to  jail,  too,  and  have  a  sapper.  At  this 
supper  a  slight  quarrel  occurred  between  two  gen 
tlemen,  Mr.  Thomas  F.  Marshall  and  a  younger 
man  named  Garnet  Howell.  A  glass  of  wine  was 
thrown  by  one  in  the  face  of  the  other,  and  a  duel 
was  the  result.  Shots  were  exchanged  without 
effect,  and  the  honor  of  both  parties  were  satis 
fied.  Then  Tom  Marshall  took  his  remaining 
pistol  and  fired  it  at  a  small  tree  at  some  distance, 
and  the  bark  flew  from  the  sapling.  This  he  did 
in  order  to  show  that  he  had  purposely  spared 
the  life  of  his  opponent.  Mr.  John  Rowan,  Jr., 
who  was  Howell's  second,  and  no  friend  of  Mar 
shall,  thereupon  remarked  :  "It  is  singular,  Mr. 
Marshall,  that  you  cannot  hit  a  man,  since  you  can 
hit  a  tree  so  easily."  To  this  sarcasm  Marshall 
replied  :  "  If  you  were  the  man,  Mr.  Rowan,  I 
should  not  have  missed  you."  Rowan  responded  : 
"  I  will  give  you  an  opportunity  to  try,  Mr.  Mar 
shall."  So  a  duel  was  thereupon  arranged,  which 
was  likely  to  be  much  more  serious  than  the  first, 
as  both  parties  were  first-rate  shots.  In  this  duel 
Marshall  was  wounded  in  the  leg  and  lamed  for 
life. 

Mr.  Prentice's    wit  was   inexhaustible.      Each 


GEORGE  D.    PRENTICE.  255 

morning's  paper  contained  half  a  dozen  epigram 
matic  sentences,  one  or  two  of  which  were  usually 
good  enough  to  be  remembered  and  preserved. 
They  sparkled  with  puns,  antitheses,  and  happy 
illustrations.  His  opponents  often  seemed  to  say 
things  as  if  to  give  him  an  opportunity  for  a  fine 
retort.  Thus,  a  Democratic  paper  having  men 
tioned  that  a  jackass  had  fallen  from  a  precipice 
and  broken  its  neck,  added  :  "  That  the  jackass, 
which  turned  such  a  somerset,  must  have  been 
a  Whig."  To  which  Prentice  rejoined:  "  No 
Whig,  who  was  not  a  jackass,  would  turn  a  som 
erset  in  times  like  these  —  when  the  Whigs  are 
carrying  everything  before  them." 

In  those  days  General  Jackson  was  very  ob 
noxious  to  the  Whig  party,  and  Prentice  steadily 
abused  him  every  day.  "  The  stinging,  hissing 
bolts  of  scorn,"  as  Bryant  calls  them,  flew  from 
his  typographical  weapon  in  each  morning  edition, 
in  the  direction  of  the  Hermitage.  At  last  it  was 
reported  that  General  Jackson  had  become  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Presbyterian  Church.  People  asked 
each  other :  "  What  will  Prentice  say  now  ? 
He  cannot  ridicule  General  Jackson  for  that. 
The  "Journal"  has  too  many  subscribers  among 
the  Presbyterians,  who  would  be  offended  if  he 
blamed  General  Jackson  for  joining  their  church. 
Yet,  he  will  have  to  say  something  about  it. 
What  will  it  be  ?  "  The  morning  "  Journal"  ap 
peared.  In  it  Prentice  mentioned  the  fact  that 


256  GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE. 

General  Jackson  had  joined  the  church,  and 
merely  added  two  lines  from  Dr.  Watts — which 
no  pious  Presbyterian  could  object  to  :  — 

"  While  the  lamp  holds  out  to  burn 
The  vilest  sinner  may  return!  " 

Still,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  Prentice,  with 
all  his  wit,  materially  aided  the  cause  of  his  party 
in  Kentucky.  He  was  only  a  politician,  not  a 
statesman.  He  found  the  State  of  Kentucky  a 
Whig  State,  and  an  antislavery  State.  He  left 
it  Democratic  and  proslavery.  He  had  no  fixed 
convictions,  no  leading  principles,  but  drifted  in 
any  way  that  the  current  went.  He  allowed  the 
State  to  fall  into  the  proslavery  ranks,  because  he 
had  not  the  moral  courage  to  take,  openly,  an 
antislavery  position.  No  doubt  he  would  have 
lost  many  subscribers  at  first,  but  he  would  have 
gained  more  in  the  end.  Public  sentiment  in 
Kentucky,  in  1835,  was  almost  unanimous  against 
the  continuance  of  this  system  in  the  State.  I 
frequently  heard  leading  public  men  declare  them 
selves  abolitionists.  All  agreed  that  the  State 
would  be  much  better  off  if  slavery  were  at  an 
end.  A  newspaper,  like  that  of  Prentice,  ought 
to  have  concentrated  and  guided  this  sentiment  and 
directed  it  wisely  toward  some  practical  measures. 
If  Prentice  himself  had  any  opinions  on  this  ques 
tion,  they  were  opposed  to  slavery.  But  he  never 
took  this  ground  plainly  and  strongly,  though  he 


GEORGE   D.   PRENTICE.  257 

would  allow  communications  in  this  sense  to  be 
inserted  in  his  paper.  He  permitted  me,  for  ex 
ample,  to  reply  in  his  columns  to  a  certain  phy 
sician,  Dr.  M'Dowell,  who  maintained  that  the 
African  was  little  better  than  a  monkey,  and 
that  slavery  is  in  accordance  with  Christianity. 
Mr.  Prentice  was  perfectly  willing  to  allow  such 
opinions  to  be  contradicted  in  his  paper,  though  he 
did  not  care  to  do  it  himself. 

Mr.  Prentice  was  perhaps  as  fair  as  most  po 
litical  editors  in  his  treatment  of  his  opponents. 
But  this  is  not  saying  much.  He  would  seldom 
correct  any  statement  which  had  once  appeared  in 
his  paper,  even  though  convinced  that  it  was  false. 
I  once  succeeded  in  inducing  him  to  do  this,  but 
was  obliged  to  use  a  stratagem  for  that  purpose. 
The  case  was  this :  In  a  controversy  between  the 
professors  in  the  Medical  School  in  Louisville,  the 
"  Journal "  had  taken  sides  with  one  party,  and 
had  brought  some  unjust  charges  against  a  young 
man,  a  graduate  of  the  institution.  The  young 
man  being  absent  from  the  city,  I  laid  before  Mr. 
Prentice  proofs  that  the  charges  were  false,  and 
asked  him  to  retract  them  ;  but  he  refused  to  do 
it.  I  then  said :  "  Will  you,  then,  Mr.  Prentice, 
allow  me  to  have  half  a  column  of  to-morrow's 
paper  in  which  to  reply  ?  "  and  he  consented.  I 
then  said :  "  Will  you  promise  to  insert  anything 
which  I  will  write  ?  "  to  which  he  also  agreed.  I 
then  wrote  an  article  of  such  a  kind  that  I  knew 
17 


258  GEORGE  D.   PRENTICE. 

that  Prentice  would  be  extremely  reluctant  to  in 
sert  it.  In  fact,  I  made  it  as  disagreeable  to  him 
as  possible.  When  I  took  it  to  him,  and  he  read 
it,  his  face  grew  as  black  as  night.  "  I  can't  print 
this,"  said  he. 

"  You  promised  to  print  whatever  I  should 
write,"  I  replied. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  would  write  such  an  arti 
cle  as  this.  I  do  not  like  to  print  it." 

"Nor  do  I  wish  to  have  it  published,  Mr.  Pren 
tice.  I  should  much  prefer  to  have  you  retract 
your  charge  against  Mr.  H." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say  ?  " 

"  Not  much.  Just  say  that  you  are  glad  to  find 
that  you  were  mistaken  in  bringing  the  accusation, 
and  that,  seeing  it  to  be  unfounded,  you  willingly 
retract  it.  Say  that,  and  you  need  not  publish 
my  communication."  So  Prentice  sat  down  and 
wrote  such  a  statement,  which  appeared  in  the 
next  paper. 

In  those  days,  habits  of  intemperance  were  not 
uncommon,  even  in  the  best  society.  I  knew, 
indeed,  many  pure  and  virtuous  Kentuckians  who 
were  wholly  free  from  any  intemperance.  But 
the  habit  was  very  common,  and  no  one  was 
ashamed  of  it.  Mr.  Prentice  was  often  much  the 
worse  for  liquor.  I  once  saw  him  at  a  party,  sit 
ting  on  a  sofa,  with  a  gentleman  sitting  on  each 
side,  keeping  him  from  falling  over.  Afterward 
he  took  the  pledge,  and  joined  a  temperance  soci- 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  259 

ety.  How  it  was  in  the  last  years  of  his  life  I 
never  knew,  but  it  is  certain  that  a  cloud  rested 
over  his  later  days.  He  lost  the  commanding 
position  which  he  once  occupied.  He  tried  to 
maintain  slavery  and  yet  oppose  the  rebellion  ; 
but  his  position  was  not  logical,  and  was  necessa 
rily  a  failure.  The  man  who  once  seemed  to  di 
rect  the  destinies  of  Kentucky  with  his  pen,  the 
leading  journalist  of  the  West,  was  at  last  only 
retained  as  a  subordinate  in  the  office  which  had 
been  the  scene  of  his  great  triumphs.  So  passes 
away  the  influence  of  any  mind,  however  brilliant, 
which  clings  to  no  convictions,  and  holds  to  no 
universal  ideas. 


XIV. 
JTJNITJS  BRUTUS  BOOTH, 

THE  ELDER. 
AN  INCIDENT  IN  HIS  LIFE. 


JUNIUS  BKUTUS  BOOTH. 

AN  INCIDENT  IN  HIS  LIFE. 


MORE  than  twenty  years  ago,1  being  pastor  of  a 
church  in  Louisville,  Kentucky,  I  was  sitting  one 
evening  meditating  over  my  coal  fire,  which  was 
cheerfully  blazing  up  and  gloomily  subsiding  again, 
in  the  way  that  Western  coal  fires  in  Western  coal 
grates  were  then  very  much  in  the  habit  of  doing. 
I  was  a  young  and  inexperienced  minister.  I  had 
come  to  the  West  fresh  from  a  New  England 
divinity  school,  with  magnificent  ideas  of  the  vast 
work  which  was  to  be  done,  and  with  rather  a 
vague  notion  of  the  way  in  which  I  was  to  do  it. 
My  views  of  the  West  were  chiefly  derived  from 
two  books,  both  of  which  are  now  obsolete.  When 
a  child,  with  the  omnivorous  reading  propensity 
of  children,  I  had  perused  a  thin,  pale  octavo, 
which  stood  on  the  shelves  of  our  library,  contain 
ing  the  record  of  a  journey  by  the  Rev.  Thaddeus 
Mason  Harris,  of  Dorchester,  from  Massachusetts 
to  Marietta,  Ohio.  Allibone,  whom  nothing  es- 

1  Written  in  1861. 


264  JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH. 

capes,  gives  the  title  of  the  book,  "  Journal  of  a 
Tour  into  the  Territory  Northwest  of  the  Alle- 
ghany  Mountains  in  1803,  Boston,  1805."  That  a 
man  should  write  an  octavo  volume  about  a  jour 
ney  to  Marietta  now  strikes  us  as  rather  absurd, 
but  in  those  days  the  journey  to  Ohio  was  more 
difficult  than  that  to  Japan  is  now.  The  other 
book  was  a  more  important  one,  being  Timothy 
Flint's  "  Ten  Years'  Recollections  of  the  Missis 
sippi  Valley,"  published  in  1826.  Mr.  Flint  was 
a  man  of  sensibility  and  fancy,  a  sharp  observer, 
and  an  interesting  writer.  His  book  first  taught 
us  to  know  the  West  in  its  scenery  and  in  its 
human  interest. 

I  was  sitting  in  my  somewhat  lonely  position, 
watching  my  coal  fire,  and  thinking  of  the  friends 
I  had  left  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains.  I 
had  not  succeeded  as  I  had  hoped  in  my  work.  I 
came  to  the  West  expecting  to  meet'  with  opposi 
tion,  and  I  found  only  indifference.  I  expected 
infidelity,  and  found  worldliness.  I  had  around 
me  a  company  of  good  Christian  friends,  but  they 
were  no  converts  of  mine ;  they  were  from  New 
England,  like  myself,  and  brought  their  religion 
with  them.  Upon  the  real  Western  people  I  had 
made  no  impression,  and  could  not  see  how  I 
should  make  any.  Those  who  were  religious 
seemed  to  be  bigots ;  those  who  were  not  relig 
ious  cared  apparently  more  for  making  money,  for 
politics,  for  horse-racing,  for  dueling,  than  for  the 


J UNI US  BRUTUS  BOOTH.  265 

difference  between  Homoousians  and  Homoiousi- 
ans.  They  were  very  fond  of  good  preaching,  but 
their  standard  was  a  little  different  from  that  I  had 
been  accustomed  to.  A  solid,  meditative,  care 
fully  written  sermon  had  few  attractions  for  them. 
They  would  go  to  hear  our  great  New  England 
divines  on  account  of  their  reputation,  but  they 
would  run  in  crowds  to  listen  to  John  Newland 
Maffit.  What  they  wanted,  as  one  of  them  ex 
pressed  it,  was  "  an  eloquent  divine,  and  no  com 
mon  orator."  They  liked  sentiment  run  out  into 
sentimentalism,  fluency,  point,  plenty  of  illustra 
tion  and  knock-down  argument.  How  could  a  poor 
boy,  fresh  from  the  groves  of  our  Academy,  where 
good  taste  reigned  supreme,  and  where  to  learn 
how  to  manage  one's  voice  was  regarded  as  a  sin 
against  sincerity,  how  could  he  meet  such  demands 
as  these  ? 

I  was  more  discouraged  than  I  need  to  have 
been,  for,  after  all,  the  resemblances  in  human  be 
ings  are  more  than  their  differences.  The  differ 
ences  are  superficial,  the  resemblances  radical. 
Everywhere  men  like,  in  a  Christian  minister,  the 
same  things,  —  sincerity,  earnestness,  and  living 
Christianity.  Mere  words  may  please,  but  not 
long.  Men  differ  in  taste  about  the  form  of  the 
cup  out  of  which  they  drink  this  wine  of  Divine 
Truth,  but  they  agree  in  their  thirst  for  the  same 
wine. 

But  to  my  story. 


266  JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH. 

I  was  sitting,  as  I  said,  meditating  some 
what  sadly,  when  a  knock  came  at  the  door.  On 
opening  it,  a  negro  boy,  with  grinning  face,  pre 
sented  himself,  holding  a  note.  The  great  fund 
of  good-humor  which  God  has  bestowed  on  the 
African  race  often  makes  them  laugh  when  we  see 
no  occasion  for  laughter.  Any  event,  no  matter 
•what  it  is,  seems  to  them  amusing.  So  this  boy 
laughed  merely  because  he  had  brought  me  a 
note,  and  not  because  there  was  anything  pecul 
iarly  amusing  in  the  message  which  the  note  con 
tained.  It  is  true  that  you  sometimes  meet  a 
melancholy  negro.  But  such,  I  fancy,  have  some 
foreign  blood  in  them ;  they  are  not  Africans  pur 
sang.  The  race  is  so  essentially  joyful  that  cent 
uries  of  oppression  and  hardship  could  not  depress 
its  good  spirits.  It  was  cheerful  in  spite  of  slav 
ery,  and  in  spite  of  cruel  prejudice. 

The  note  the  boy  brought  me  was  as  follows : — 

"  UNITED  STATES  HOTEL,  January  4,  1834. 
"  SIR, —  I  hope  you  will  excuse  the  liberty  of  a  stranger 
addressing  you  on  a  subject  he  feels  great  interest  in. 
It  is  to  require  a  place  of  interment  for  his  friend[s]  in 
the  church-yard  and  also  the  expense  attendant  on  the 
purchase  of  such  place  of  temporary  repose. 

"  Your    communication  on   this  matter  will   greatly 
oblige,  sir,  your  respectful  and  obedient  servant, 

"J.  B.  BOOTH." 

It  will  be  observed  that  after  the  word  "friend" 
an  [s]  follows  in  brackets.     In  the  original  the 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH.  267 

word  was  followed  by  a  small  mark  which  might 
or  might  not  give  it  the  plural  form.  It  could  be 
read  either  "friend"  or  friends,"  but  as  we  do 
not  usually  find  ourselves  called  upon  to  bury  more 
than  one  friend  at  a  time,  the  hasty  reader  would 
not  notice  the  mark,  but  would  read  it  "  friend." 
So  did  I ;  and  only  afterward,  in  consequence  of 
the  denoument,  did  I  notice  that  it  might  be  read 
in  the  other  way. 

Taking  my  hat,  I  stepped  into  the  street.  Gas 
in  those  days  was  not ;  an  occasional  lantern, 
swung  on  a  wire  across  the  intersection  of  the 
streets,  reminded  us  that  the  city  was  once  French, 
and  suggested  the  French  Revolution  and  the  cry, 
"A.  la  lanterne!"  First  I  went  to  my  neighbor, 
the  mayor  of  the  city,  in  pursuit  of  the  desired 
information.  A  jolly  mayor  was  he,  —  a  Yankee 
melted  down  into  a  Western  man,  thoroughly 
Westernized  by  a  rough-and-tumble  life  in  Ken 
tucky  during  many  years.  Being  obliged  to  hold 
a  mayor's  court  every  day,  and  knowing  very  little 
of  law,  his  chief  study  was,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"  how  to  choke  off  the  Kentucky  lawyers."  Mr. 
Mayor  not  being  at  home,  I  turned  next  to  the 
office  of  another  naturalized  Yankee,  —  a  Yankee 
naturalized,  but  not  Westernized.  He  was  one  of 
those  who  do  not  change  their  mind  with  their 
sky,  who,  exiled  from  the  dear  hills  of  New  Eng 
land,  can  never  be  otherwise  than  the  inborn,  in 
herent  Yankee.  He  was  a  Plymouth  man,  and 


268  JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH. 

religiousiy  preserved  every  opinion,  habit,  and  ac 
cent  which  he  had  brought  from  Plymouth  Rock. 
When  Kentucky  was  madly  Democratic,  and  wept 
over  the  dead  Jefferson  as  over  her  saint,  he  pub 
licly  expressed  the  opinion  that  it  would  have  been 
well  for  the  country  if  he  had  died  long  before,  — 
for  which  expression  he  came  near  being  lynched. 
He  was  the  most  unpopular  and  the  most  indis 
pensable  man  in  the  city, — they  could  live  neither 
with  him  nor  without  him.  He  founded  and 
organized  the  insurance  companies,  the  public 
schools,  the  charitable  associations,  the  great  canal, 
the  banking  system  ;  in  short,  all  Yankee  institu 
tions.  The  city  was  indebted  to  him  for  much  of 
its  prosperity,  but  disliked  him  while  it  respected 
him.  For  he  spared  no  Western  prejudice ;  he 
remorselessly  criticised  everything  that  was  not 
done  as  Yankees  do  it ;  and  the  most  provoking 
thing  of  all  was  that  he  seldom  made  a  mistake  ; 
he  was  very  apt  to  be  right. 

Finding  neither  of  these  men  at  home,  and  so 
not  being  able  to  learn  about  the  price  of  lots  in 
the  church-yard,  I  walked  on  to  the  hotel,  and 
asked  to  see  Mr.  J.  B.  Booth.  I  was  shown  into 
a  private  parlor,  where  he  and  another  gentle 
man  were  sitting  by  a  table.  On  the  table  were 
candles,  a  decanter  of  wine  and  glasses,  a  plate  of 
bread,  cigars,  and  a  book.  Mr.  Booth  rose  when 
I  announced  myself,  and  I  at  once  recognized  the 
distinguished  actor.  I  had  met  him  once  before, 


J  UN  I  US  BRUTTTS  BOOTH.  269 

and  traveled  with  him  for  part  of  a  day.  He  was 
a  short  man,  but  one  of  those  who  seem  tall  when 
under  excitement.  He  had  a  clear  blue  eye  and 
fair  complexion.  In  repose  there  was  nothing  to 
attract  attention  to  him,  but  when  excited,  his 
expression  was  so  animated,  his  eye  was  so  brill 
iant,  and  his  figure  so  full  of  life,  that  he  became 
another  man. 

Having  told  him  that  I  had  not  been  successful 
in  procuring  the  information  he  desired,  but  would 
bring  it  to  him  on  the  following  morning,  he 
thanked  me,  and  asked  me  to  sit  down.  It  passed 
through  my  mind,  that,  as  he  had  lost  a  friend 
and  was  a  stranger  in  the  place,  I  might  be  of  use 
to  him.  Perhaps  he  needed  consolation,  and  it 
was  my  office  to  sympathize  with  the  bereaved. 
So  I  sat  down.  But  it  did  not  appear  that  he 
was  disposed  to  seek  for  such  comfort,  or  engage 
in  such  discourse.  Once  or  twice  I  endeavored, 
but  without  success,  to  turn  the  conversation  to 
his  presumed  loss.  I  asked  him  if  the  death  of 
his  friend  was  sudden. 

u  Very,"  he  replied. 

"Was  he  a  relative  ?" 

"  Distant,"  said  he,  and  changed  the  subject. 

It  is  so  long  since  these  events  took  place  that  I 
do  not  pretend  to  give  the  conversation  accurately, 
but  what  occurred  was  much  like  this.  It  was  a 
dialogue  between  Booth  and  myself,  the  third  per 
son  saying  not  a  word  during  the  evening.  Mr. 


270  JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH. 

Booth  first  asked  me  to  take  a  glass  of  wine,  or  a 
cigar,  both  of  which  I  declined. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  let  me  try  to  entertain  you 
in  another  way.  When  you  came  in,  I  was  read 
ing  aloud  to  my  friend.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  hear  me  read." 

"  I  certainly  should,"  said  I. 

"  What  shall  I  read  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  like  best.  What  you  like  to 
read  I  shall  like  to  hear." 

"  Then  suppose  I  attempt  Coleridge's  '  Ancient 
Mariner '  ?  Have  you  time  for  it?  It  is  long." 

"Yes,  I  should  like  it  much." 

So  he  read  aloud  the  whole  of  this  magnificent 
poem.  I  have  listened  to  many  eminent  readers 
and  actors,  but  none  of  them  affected  me  as  I  was 
moved  by  this  reading.  I  forgot  the  place  where 
I  was,  the  motive  of  my  coming,  the  reader  him 
self.  I  knew  the  poem  almost  by  heart,  yet  I 
seemed  never  to  have  heard  it  before.  I  was  by 
the  side  of  the  doomed  mariner.  I  was  the  wed 
ding-guest,  listening  to  his  story,  held  by  his  glit 
tering  eye.  I  was  with  him  in  the  storm,  among 
the  ice,  beneath  the  hot  and  copper  sky.  Booth 
became  so  absorbed  in  his  reading,  so  identified 
with  the  poem,  that  his  tone  and  manner  were 
saturated  with  a  feeling  of  reality.  He  actually 
thought  himself  the  mariner,  —  so  I  am  persuaded, 
—  while  he  was  reading.  As  the  poem  proceeded, 
and  we  plunged  deeper  and  deeper  into  its  mystic 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH.  271 

horrors,  the  actual  world  receded  into  a  dim,  in 
definable  distance.  The  magnetism  of  this  mar 
velous  interpreter  had  caught  up  himself  and  me 
with  him,  into  Dreamland,  from  which  we  gently 
descended  at  the  end  of  Part  VI.,  and  "  the  spell 
was  snapt." 

"  And  now,  all  in  my  own  countree, 
I  stood  on  the  firm  land,"  — 

returned  from  a  voyage  into  the  inane.  Again  I 
found  myself  sitting  in  the  little  hotel  parlor,  by 
the  side  of  a  man  with  glittering  eye,  with  a  third 
somebody  on  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

I  drew  a  long  breath. 

Booth  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  volume.  It 
contained  the  collected  works  of  Coleridge,  Shelley, 
and  Keats. 

"  Did  you  ever  read,"  said  he,  "  Shelley's  argu 
ment  against  the  use  of  animal  food,  at  the  end  of    ^/ 
'QueenMab'?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  it." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  the  argument?  " 

"  Ingenious,  but  not  satisfactory." 

"  To  me  it  is  satisfactory.  I  have  long  been 
convinced  that  it  is  wrong  to  take  the  life  of  an 
animal  for  our  pleasure.  I  eat  no  animal  food. 
There  is  my  supper,"  —  pointing  to  the  plate  of 
bread.  "And,  indeed,"  continued  he,  "I  think 
the  Bible  favors  this  view.  Have  you  a  Bible 
with  you?" 


272  JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH. 

I  had  not  furnished  myself  with  a  Bible. 

Booth  rang  the  bell,  and  when  the  boy  presented 
himself  called  for  one.  Gargon  disappeared,  and,, 
came  back  soon  with  a  Bible  on  a  tray. 

Our  tragedian  took  the  book,  and  proceeded  to 
argue  his  point  by  means  of  texts  selected  skillfully 
here  and  there  from  Genesis  to  Revelation.  He 
referred  to  the  fact  that  it  was  not  till  after  the 
Deluge  men  were  allowed,  "  for  the  hardness  of 
their  hearts,"  as  he  maintained,  to  eat  meat.  But 
in  the  beginning  it  was  not  so;  only  herbs  were 
given  to  man,  at  first,  for  food.  He  quoted  the 
Psalmist  (Psalm  civ.  14)  to  show  that  man's  food 
came  from  the  earth,  and  was  the  green  herb ;  and 
contended  that  the  reason  why  Daniel  and  his 
friends  were  fairer  and  fatter  than  the  children 
who  ate  their  portion  of  meat  was,  that  they  ate 
only  pulse  (Daniel  i.  12-15).  These  are  all  of  his 
Scriptural  arguments  which  I  now  recall ;  but  I 
thought  them  rather  ingenious  at  the  time. 

The  argument  took  some  time.  Then  he  recited 
one  or  two  pieces  bearing  on  the  same  subject, 
closing  with  Byron's  lines  to  his  Newfoundland 
dog. 

"  In  connection  with  that- poem,"  he  continued, 
"  a  singular  event  once  happened  to  me.  I  was 
acting  in  Petersburg,  Virginia.  My  theatrical 
engagement  was  just  concluded,  and  I  dined  with 
a  party  of  friends  one  afternoon  before  going  away. 
We  sat,  after  dinner,  singing  songs,  reciting  poetry, 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH.  273 

and  relating  anecdotes.  At  last  I  recited  those 
lines  of  Byron  on  his  dog.  I  was  sitting  by  the 
fire-place,  my  feet  resting  against  the  jamb,  and  a 
single  candle  was  burning  on  the  mantel.  It  had 
become  dark.  Just  as  I  came  to  the  end  of  the 
poem,  — 

" '  To  mark  a  friend's  remains  these  stones  arise, 
I  never  knew  but  one,  and  here  he  lies/  — 

my  foot  slipped  down  the  jamb,  and  struck  a  dog, 
who  was  lying  beneath.  The  dog  sprang  up, 
howled,  and  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  candle  went  out.  I  asked  whose  dog 
it  was.  No  one  knew.  No  one  had  seen  the  dog 
till  that  moment.  Perhaps  you  may  smile  at  me, 
sir,  and  think  me  superstitious,  —  but  I  could  not 
but  think  that  the  animal  was  brought  there  by 
some  occult  sympathy." 

Having  uttered  these  oracular  words  in  a  very 
solemn  tone,  Booth  rose,  and,  taking  one  of  the 
candles,  said  to  me,  "  Would  you  like  to  look  at 
the  remains  ?  " 

I  assented.  Asking  our  silent  friend  to  excuse 
us,  he  led  me  into  an  adjoining  chamber.  I  looked 
toward  a  bed  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  but  saw 
nothing  there.  Booth  went  to  another  corner  of 
the  room,  where,  spread  out  upon  a  large  sheet,  I 
beheld  to  my  surprise,  about  a  bushel  of  wild 
pigeons  ! 

Booth  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  the  birds,  and 

18 


274  JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH. 

with  evidence  of  sincere  affliction  began  to  mourn 
over  them.  He  took  them  up  in  his  hands  ten 
derly,  and  pressed  them  to  his  heart.  For  a  few 
moments  he  seemed  to  forget  my  presence.  For 
this  I  was  glad,  for  it  gave  me  a  little  time  to 
recover  from  my  astonishment,  and  to  consider 
rapidly  what  it  might  mean.  As  I  look  back  now, 
and  think  of  the  oddity  of  the  situation,  I  rather 
wonder  at  my  own  self-possession.  It  was  a  suffi 
ciently  trying  position.  At  first  I  thought  it  was 
a  hoax,  an  intentional  piece  of  practical  fun,  of 
which  I  was  to  be  the  object.  But  even  in  the 
moment  allowed  me  to  think,  I  decided  that  this 
could  not  be.  For  I  recalled  the  long  and  elabo 
rate  Bible  argument  against  taking  the  life  of  ani 
mals,  which  could  hardly  have  been  got  up  for  the 
occasion.  I  considered  also  that  as  a  joke  it  would 
be  too  poor  in  itself,  and  too  unworthy  a  man  like 
Booth.  So  I  decided  that  it  was  a  sincere  convic 
tion,  —  an  idea,  exaggerated  perhaps  to  the  bor 
ders  of  monomania,  of  the  sacredness  of  all  life. 
And  I  determined  to  treat  the  conviction  with 
respect,  as  all  sincere  and  religious  convictions 
deserve  to  be  treated. 

I  also  saw  the  motive  for  this  particular  course 
of  action.  During  the  week  immense  quantities 
of  the  wild  pigeon  (Passenger  Pigeon,  Columba 
migratoria)  had  been  flying  over  the  city,  in  their 
way  to  and  from  a  roost  in  the  neighborhood. 
These  birds  had  been  slaughtered  by  myriads,  and 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH.  275 

were  for  sale  by  the  bushel  at  the  corners  of  every 
street  in  the  city.  Although  all  the  birds  which 
could  be  killed  by  man  made  the  smallest  impres 
sion  on  the  vast  multitude  contained  in  one  of 
these  flocks,  —  computed  by  Wilson  to  consist 
sometimes  of  more  than  twenty-two  hundred  mill 
ions,  —  yet  to  Booth  the  destruction  seemed 
wasteful,  wanton,  and,  from  his  point  of  view,  was 
a  willful  and  barbarous  murder. 

I  could  not  but  feel  a  certain  sympathy  with  his 
humanity.  It  was  an  error  in  a  good  direction. 
If  an  insanity,  it  was  better  than  the  cold,  heart 
less  sanity  of  most  men.  By  the  time,  therefore, 
that  Booth  was  ready  to  speak,  I  was  prepared  to 
answer. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  these  innocent  victims  of 
man's  barbarity.  I  wish  to  testify,  in  some  pub 
lic  way,  against  this  wanton  destruction  of  life. 
And  I  wish  you  to  help  me.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Hardly,"  I  replied.  "  I  expected  something 
very  different  from  this,  when  I  received  your 
note.  I  did  not  come  to  see  you,  expecting  to  be 
called  to  assist  at  the  funeral  solemnities  of  birds." 

"  Nor  did  I  send  for  you,"  he  answered.  "  I 
merely  wrote  to  ask  about  the  lot  in  the  grave 
yard.  But  now  you  are  here,  why  not  help  me  ? 
Do  you  fear  the  laugh  of  man  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  returned.  "  If  I  agreed  with  you  in 
regard  to  this  subject,  I  might,  perhaps,  have  the 
courage  to  act  out  my  convictions.  But  I  do  not 


276  J UNI US  BRUTUS  BOOTH. 

look  at  it  as  you  do.  There  is  no  reason,  then, 
why  I  should  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  I  re 
spect  your  convictions,  but  do  not  share  them." 

"  That  is  fair,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  ask  any 
thing  more.  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  coming  to 
see  me.  My  intention  was  to  purchase  a  place  in 
the  burial-ground  and  have  them  put  into  a  coffin 
and  carried  in  a  hearse.  I  might  do  it  without 
any  one's  knowing  that  it  was  not  a  human  body. 
Would  you  assist  me,  then?  " 

"  But  if  no  one  knew  it,"  I  said,  "  how  would  it 
be  a  public  testimony  against  the  destruction  of 
life  ?  " 

"  True,  it  would  not.  Well,  I  will  consider 
what  to  do.  Perhaps  I  may  wish  to  bury  them 
privately  in  some  garden." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  I,  "  I  will  find  you  a  place 
in  the  grounds  of  some  of  my  friends." 

He  thanked  me,  and  I  took  my  leave,  exceed 
ingly  astonished  by  the  incident,  but  also  inter 
ested  in  the  earnestness  of  conviction  of  the  man. 

I  heard,  in  a  day  or  two,  that  he  actually  pur 
chased  a  lot  in  the  cemetery,  two  or  three  miles 
below  the  city,  had  a  coffin  made,  hired  a  hearse 
and  carriage,  and  had  gone  through  all  the  solem 
nity  of  a  regular  funeral.  For  several  days  he 
continued  to  visit  the  grave  of  his  little  friends, 
and  mourned  over  them  with  a  grief  which  did  not 
seem  at  all  theatrical. 

Meantime  he  acted  every  night  at  the  theatre, 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH.  277 

and  my  friends  told  me  that  his  acting  was  of  un 
surpassed  excellence.  A  vein  of  insanity  began, 
however,  to  mingle  in  his  conduct.  His  fellow- 
actors  were  afraid  of  him.  He  looked  terribly  in 
earnest  on  the  stage  ;  and  when  he  went  behind 
the  scenes,  he  spoke  to  no  one,  but  sat  still,  look 
ing  sternly  at  the  ground.  During  the  day  he 
walked  about  town,  giving  apples  to  the  horses, 
and  talking  with  the  drivers,  urging  them  to  treat 
their  animals  with  kindness. 

An  incident  happened,  one  day,  which  illus 
trated  still  further  his  sympathy  with  the  humbler 
races  of  animals.  One  of  the  sudden  freshets 
which  come  to  the  Ohio,  caused  commonly  by 
heavy  rains  melting  the  snow  in  the  valleys  of  its 
tributary  streams,  had  raised  the  river  to  an  un 
usual  height.  The  yellow  torrent  rushed  along 
its  channel,  bearing  on  its  surface  logs,  boards,  and 
the  debris  of  fences,  shanties,  and  lumber-yards. 
A  steamboat,  forced  by  the  rapid  current  against 
the  stone  landing,  had  been  stove,  and  lay  a  wreck 
on  the  bottom,  with  the  water  rising  rapidly 
around  it.  A  horse  had  been  left  fastened  on  the 
boat,  and  it  looked  as  if  he  would  be  drowned. 
Booth  was  on  the  landing,  and  he  took  from  his 
pocket  twenty  dollars,  and  offered  it  to  any  one 
who  would  get  to  the  boat  and  cut  the  halter,  so 
that  the  horse  might  swim  ashore.  Some  one  was 
found  to  do  it,  and  the  horse's  life  was  saved. 

So  this  golden  thread  of  human  sympathy  with 


278  JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH. 

all  creatures  whom  God  had  made  ran  through 
the  darkening  moods  of  his  genius.  He  had  well 
laid  to  heart  the  fine  moral  of  his  favorite  poem, 
that 

"  He  prayeth  well,  who  loveth  well 
Both  man,  and  bird,  and  beast. 

"  He  prayeth  best,  who  loveth  best 

All  things,  both  great  and  small ; 
For  the  dear  God,  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 

In  a  week  or  less  the  tendency  to  derangement 
in  Booth  became  more  developed.  One  night, 
when  he  was  to  act,  he  did  not  appear ;  nor  was 
he  found  at  his  lodgings.  He  did  not  come  home 
that  night.  Next  morning  he  was  found  in  the 
woods,  several  miles  from  the  city,  wandering 
through  the  snow.  He  was  taken  care  of.  His 
derangement  proved  to  be  temporary,  and  his 
reason  returned  in  a  few  days.  He  soon  left  the 
city.  But  before  he  went  away  he  sent  me  the 
following  note,  which  I  copy  from  the  original 
faded  paper  now  lying  before  me  :  — 

"  LOUISVILLE  THEATRE,  January  13,  1834. 

"Mr  DEAR  SIR, —  Allow  me  to  return  you  my 
grateful  acknowledgments  for  your  prompt  and  benevo 
lent  attention  to  my  request  last  Wednesday  night. 
Although  I  am  convinced  your  ideas  and  mine  thor 
oughly  coincide  as  to  the  real  cause  of  Man's  bitter  deg 
radation,  yet  I  fear  human  means  to  redeem  him  are  now 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH.  279 

fruitless.  The  fire  must  burn,  and  Prometheus  endure 
his  agony.  The  Pestilence  of  Asia  must  come  again, 
ere  the  savage  will  be  taught  humanity.  May  you  es 
cape  !  God  bless  you,  sir  !  J.  B.  BOOTH." 

Though  this  was  an  odd  adventure  for  a  young 
minister,  less  than  six  months  in  his  profession,  it 
left  in  my  mind  a  very  pleasant  impression  of  this 
great  tragedian.  It  may  be  asked  why  he  came 
to  me,  the  youngest  clergyman  in  the  place.  He 
himself  gave  me  the  reason.  I  was  a  Unitarian. 
He  said  he  had  more  sympathy  with  me  on  that 
account,  as  he  was  of  Jewish  descent,  and  a  Mon- 
otheist. 


XV. 
WASHINGTON 

AND   THE  SECRET   OF   HIS   INFLUENCE. 


WASHINGTON,    HIS    ADVICE    AND 
EXAMPLE. 


IT  is  not  my  purpose  to-day  to  deliver  an  ora 
tion  on  the  character  and  life  of  Washington. 
This  has  been  done  too  often,  and  too  ably ;  and 
it  is  not  the  hour  or  place  for  such  an  oration. 
But  I  cannot  help  remembering  that  to-morrow  is 
the  birthday  of  the  great  man  whom  we  have 
agreed  to  call  the  Father  of  our  Country,  and 
now,  when  the  building  he  founded  and  helped 
to  finish  is  nearly  one  hundred  years  old,1  we  may 
invoke  his  spirit  to  preserve  that  which  his  spirit 
gave.  His  example  is  very  precious  at  the  pres 
ent  hour.  Let  us  see  what  we  can  learn  from  it 
—  what  it  can  do  for  us. 

The  four  greatest  men  this  country  has  pro 
duced  are,  I  think,  Washington,  Franklin,  Jeffer 
son,  and  Abraham  Lincoln.  Of  these,  Jefferson 
was  the  greatest  genius,  Franklin  the  greatest  in 
tellect,  Lincoln  the  most  marked  product  of  Amer 
ican  institutions,  and  Washington  the  greatest 
character. 

1  This  address  was  spoken  February  21,  1875. 


284  WASHINGTON. 

In  regard  to  intellect  merely,  we  may  distin 
guish  two  classes  of  minds.  It  is  the  province  of 
one  to  manage  the  present ;  of  the  other,  to  in 
troduce  the  future.  Jefferson  belonged  to  the 
latter  class,  Washington  to  the  former,  Frank 
lin  and  Lincoln  to  both.  Franklin  was,  perhaps, 
the  greatest  intellect  of  all,  for  he  combined  the 
genius  of  Jefferson,  the  wisdom  of  Washington, 
and  the  American  sagacity  of  Lincoln.  But  the 
peculiarity  of  Washington  was  the  weight  of  his 
character.  Never  has  there  been,  in  modern  times, 
a  similar  example  of  the  influence  of  personality. 
Washington,  while  he  lived,  was  the  only  man  in 
the  nation  whom  the  people  trusted,  the  only 
man  who  had  that  wonderful  power  of  supporting 
a  nation  in  its  greatest  crisis  by  the  strength  of 
his  single  arm.  While  he  lived  there  was  one  man 
who  could  save  his  country.  When  he  died,  it 
was  thrown  on  its  own  resources  —  it  was  obliged 
to  save  itself. 

It  was  this  which  justified  the  epithet  applied 
to  Washington  by  Southey  :  "  Awful!"  We  are 
filled  with  awe  in  contemplating  one  so  separated 
from  common  men  as  to  be  the  equipoise  for  all 
other  living  men ;  to  weigh  as  much,  morally,  as 
all  of  them  together.  Jupiter,  in  Homer,  tells  the 
gods  to  take  hold  at  one  end  of  the  golden  chain 
which  holds  the  earth  in  its  place,  and  he  will  take 
hold  of  the  other,  and  draw  them  all  up,  gods, 
goddesses,  earth  and  ocean.  It  is  sometimes 


WASHINGTON.  285 

granted  to  a  single  man,  in  whom  a  perfect  loy 
alty  to  right  is  joined  to  an  iron  inflexibility  of 
will,  to  do  the  same  thing  in  the  moral  world.  If 
the  whole  American  people  inclined  in  one  direc 
tion,  and  Washington  in  the  opposite  direction, 
it  was  in  the  power  of  Washington  to  hold  the 
whole  nation  back,  and  arrest  it  in  its  course. 
He  did  this  more  than  once.  His  firmness  of 
purpose  saved  us  in  the  Revolution.  It  held  the 
nation  back  from  despair  in  its  darkest  hours. 
His  firmness  of  purpose,  after  the  Revolution,  en 
abled  the  nation  to  form  the  Federal  Union.  His 
great  name,  great  influence,  and  perfect  conviction 
brought  them  up  to  the  point  they  might  not 
otherwise  have  reached,  —  of  accepting  a  constitu 
tion  which  was  unquestionably  unpalatable  to  the 
great  majority.  He  lost  more  battles  than  he 
won,  and  he  often  lost  them  from  the  want  of 
a  military  genius.  But,  after  a  defeat,  the  nation 
continued  to  trust  him  more  than  Marlborough  or 
Napoleon  were  trusted  after  a  victory.  Three 
times  his  character  saved  the  country  ;  once,  by 
keeping  up  the  courage  of  the  nation  till  the  Rev 
olutionary  War  was  ended ;  then  by  uniting  the 
nation  in  the  acceptance  of  the  Federal  Constitu 
tion  ;  thirdly,  by  saving  it  from  being  swept  away 
into  anarchy  and  civil  war  during  the  immense 
excitements  of  the  French  Revolution.  Such  was 
the  greatness  of  Washington,  —  a  gift  of  God  to 
this  nation  as  far  beyond  any  other  of  God's  gifts 


286  WASHINGTON. 

as  virtue  is  more  than  genius,  as  character  is  more 
than  intellect,  as  wise  conduct  is  better  than  out 
ward  prosperity. 

Washington,  in  his  portraits,  and  in  history, 
seems  a  perfectly  calm  and  self-possessed  man,  of 
imperturbable  coolness,  and,  to  the  superficial  ob 
server,  even  wanting  in  passion.  But  Taylor,  in 
his  "  Van  Artevelde,"  paints  a  portrait  which  de 
scribes  him  better. 

"  An  equal  nature,  and  an  ample  soul, 
Rockbound  and  fortified  against  the  assaults 
Of  momentary  passion  ;  but  beneath 
Built  on  a  surging,  subterraneous  fire, 
Which  stirred  and  lifted  him  to  great  attempts." 

When  the  steam-engine  is  out  of  order  it  may 
make  a  noise  and  shake  violently,  and  the  steam 
escaping  through  the  cracks  may  hiss ;  but  all 
this  is  a  sign  of  weakness,  not  of  power.  The  en 
gine  which  works  without  jar  and  without  noise, 
sending  its  piston  easily  to  and  fro,  and  turning 
its  shaft  quietly  round  and  round,  this  is  the 
strong  engine.  Its  power  is  all  restrained,  guided, 
and  made  to  do  the  will  of  the  master.  So  it 
is  with  the  fire  in  the  souls  of  great  men.  It 
is  the  deep  lying  fire  —  the  tide  of  fire  below, 
which  slowly  lifts  the  whole  continent  —  not  the 
ebullition  of  fire  which  wastes  itself  at  the  ori 
fice  of  a  volcano.  The  passion  in  the  soul  of 
Washington  helped  to  raise  our  American  conti 
nent. 


WASHINGTON.  287 

Such  was  our  Washington,  —  self-possessed,  in 
perfect  equipoise  of  soul,  with  no  unbalanced  ten 
dencies,  with  no  loose,  undirected  powers,  with  con 
science  always  in  command,  with  wisdom  always  as 
the  counselor  —  a  perfectly  disinterested  patriot, 
into  whose  soul  the  thought  of  a  private  end  could 
not  enter ;  brave  without  bravado,  and  a  gentle 
man  by  the  threefold  right  of  birth,  education,  and 
character.  So  there  came  to  him  at  last,  by  virtue 
of  his  perfect  fidelity,  this  miraculous  accumula 
tion  of  reverence.  He  seemed  superior  to  all  hu 
man  weakness  —  his  life  was  one 

"  That  dare  send 
A  challenge  to  its  end, 
And  when  it  comes,  say,  '  Welcome,  Friend/  " 

Such  being  the  position  of  Washington  to  this 
nation,  we  can  appeal  to  his  great  spirit  to-day ; 
we,  who  are  not  men  worshipers;  we,  who  do 
not  idolize  saints  and  martyrs,  we  can  appeal  to 
his  spirit  to  look  from  its  high  sphere,  and  counsel 
the  land  he  loved  in  every  situation. 

Instead  of  eulogizing  again  what  has  so  often 
been  the  subject  of  eulogy,  —  the  character  of 
Washington,  —  let  us  ask  how  he  would  advise  us 
if  he  were  to  be  able  to  address  the  American 
nation  to-day.  There  are  not  many  men  whose 
advice  we  should  care  to  have.  Most  of  our  great 
statesmen  were  too  deeply  immersed  in  the  pol 
itics  of  their  time.  Jefferson  and  Hamilton,  An- 


288  WASHINGTON. 

drew  Jackson,  Calhoun,  Webster,  Clay  may  have 
been  intellectually  greater  than  Washington,  but 
they  were  not  so  wise.  They  were  all  ardent 
partisans,  champions  of  partial  interests ;  but  the 
unselfish  conscience  of  Washington  raised  him  to 
a  higher  plane  of  principles,  gave  him  a  judgment 
undistorted  by  partiality.  He  could  overlook  the 
whole  ground  ;  he  could  see  the  value  of  oppos 
ing  interests  ;  the  simplicity  and  honesty  of  his 
thought  raised  it  to  the  level  of  wisdom.  Talent 
alone,  knowledge  alone,  the  most  brilliant  imagi 
nation,  the  most  penetrating  insight,  the  most  com 
prehensive  and  exact  perceiving  faculty  —  these 
do  not  make  the  wise  man.  Wisdom  is  born,  not 
from  the  head,  but  from  the  upright  conscience 
and  the  pure  heart.  Singleness  of  purpose  and 
honesty  of  intention  eliminate  all  the  sources  of 
error  arising  from  personal  feeling,  from  party 
spirit,  from  local  interests,  from  individual  preju 
dices  ;  and  so  they  leave  the  judgment  free  to  act 
on  the  practical  question  without  bias.  In  calcu 
lating  the  most  complex  movements  of  the  heav 
enly  bodies,  the  simple  rules  of  mathematics  will 
bring  out  an  accurate  result,  provided  every  source 
of  error  is  carefully  removed.  In  practical  life, 
these  sources  of  error  are  oftenest  found  to  be  in 
the  feelings.  That  is  why  purity  of  heart  opens 
the  way  to  truth,  and  why  things  hidden  from 
the  learned  and  the  brilliant  are  revealed  to  babes. 
This  was  the  commanding  power  of  Washington's 


WASHINGTON.  289 

mind.  Of  the  first  American  Congress,  meeting 
in  Philadelphia  in  September,  1774,  Patrick 
Henry  said  that  its  best  orator  was  Rutledge 
of  South  Carolina,  but  for  solid  information  and 
sound  judgment,  Washington  was  the  greatest 
of  all. 

The  paper  of  Washington  which  contains  his 
most  carefully  expressed  opinions  in  regard  to  our 
national  affairs  is  his  parting  address.  Studiously 
reserved  on  most  occasions,  the  silent  man  opened 
his  mouth  and  became  almost  expressive.  As 
Paul  once  said,  when  his  feelings  overflowed  in 
words  of  fire,  so  Washington,  in  writing  this  ad 
dress,  might  have  exclaimed :  "  O  Americans  ! 
my  mouth  is  open  unto  you ;  my  heart  is  en 
larged  ! "  After  forty-five  years  of  public  ser 
vice  he  was  about  to  leave  public  life  forever; 
and,  as  a  father  on  his  death-bed  will  give  advice 
to  his  children  on  subjects  to  which  he  has  never 
before  alluded,  so  Washington,  in  this  address, 
freed  his  heart  and  uttered  his  whole  thought  for 
the  benefit  of  the  nation. 

The  great  danger  at  that  time  was  to  the  Union. 
The  centrifugal  force  was  stronger  than  the  centrip 
etal.  Washington,  therefore,  urges  most  strongly, 
at  the  opening  of  his  remarks,  loyalty  to  the 
Union,  fidelity  to  the  central  government,  opposi 
tion  to  local  and  sectional  prejudices.  He  exhorts 
the  North  and  the  South,  the  East  and  the  West, 
to  regard  themselves  as  one.  Since  our  great  and 

19 


290  WASHINGTON. 

terrible  civil  war  lias  restored  the  Union,  and  made 
the  central  government  so  strong,  it  may  be 
thought  that  his  advice  is  not  now  so  very  much 
required.  Yet  I  believe  this  counsel  is  never  quite 
unnecessary.  Before  the  Rebellion  the  South  gov 
erned  the  North  —  now,  the  North  governs  the 
South.  A  triumphant  political  party,  representing 
union,  freedom  for  all,  and  the  rights  of  the  North, 
has  now,  during  fourteen  years,  governed  the 
nation.  It  does  not  mean  to  be  a  sectional  party, 
but  there  is  great  danger  of  its  becoming  so.  I 
think  that,  if  George  Washington  could  speak,  he 
would  say,  "  You  have  fought  and  labored  to  give 
freedom  to  Southern  black  men,  and  you  have 
done  well.  But  remember  that  Southern  white 
men  have  rights  also  ;  do  not  make  slaves  of  them 
while  freeing  the  blacks.  They  also  are  your 
brethren.  The  evil  influence  which  corrupted 
them  —  Slavery — has  come  to  an  end.  The 
passions  excited  by  the  war  and  its  results  have 
had  nearly  ten  years  wherein  to  cool.  The  inter 
ests  of  North  and  South,  before  hostile,  are  now 
the  same.  Recognize  their  rights,  and  give  real 
peace  to  the  nation." 

The  habit  which  has  grown  up  since  the  war,  of 
the  interference  by  the  general  government  in 
the  local  politics  of  the  reconstructed  States,  was 
for  a  time,  perhaps,  excusable,  because  possibly 
unavoidable.  But  it  has  evidently  become  very 
dangerous. 


WASHINGTON.  291 

Recent  grave  events  in  Louisiana  have  called 
the  attention  of  all  thoughtful  persons  to  this  sub 
ject.  An  officer  of  the  United  States  army,  with 
a  file  of  soldiers,  entered  the  hall  where  the  Legis 
lature  of  the  State  was  in  session  and  removed  five 
members ;  thus  taking  the  majority  from  one 
political  party  and  giving  it  to  another.  The 
action  of  the  general  government  in  approving 
this  proceeding  seemed  to  me  so  serious,  that  I 
signed  a  call  for  a  meeting  in  Faneuil  Hall  to  con 
sider  it.  I  have  been  frequently  asked  why  I  did 
so,  since  so  many  good  men  and  women  thought 
the  action  of  the  President  right.  Perfectly  will 
ing  to  admit  that  the  intentions  of  all  concerned 
were  good,  I  think  the  act  a  dangerous  one. 

Louisiana  has  been  readmitted  into  the  Union 
as  a  sovereign  State.  If  so,  she  has  all  the  rights 
which  Massachusetts  has.  In  Massachusetts  we 
have  a  Democratic  governor  and  a  Republican 
Legislature.  Suppose  the  governor  should  request 
the  United  States  military  commandant  of  this 
district  to  go  to  the  state  house  and  remove  Re 
publican  members  from  the  senate  chamber,  so 
as  to  give  a  Democratic  majority  to  that  body. 
If  he  should  do  so,  and  a  Democratic  President 
and  Cabinet  should  approve  the  action,  would 
those  who  defend  his  action  in  Louisiana  approve 
of  it  in  Massachusetts  ?  and  if  not,  why  not  ? 

It  will  be  said  in  reply  that  the  cases  are  differ 
ent  ;  that  the  people  of  Louisiana  are  rebels,  and 


292  WASHINGTON. 

that  they  must  be  held  down  by  military  power. 
This  is  a  very  good  reason  for  putting  the  State 
back  into  the  condition  of  a  territory  and  giving  it 
a  military  government,  but  not  for  violating  all 
its  constitutional  rights  while  it  remains  one  of 
the  States  of  the  Union. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  representatives  removed 
had  no  right  to  be  there,  and  that  the  Legislature 
was  not  properly  organized.  One  famous  orator 
has  declared  that  the  Louisiana  Legislature  was 
not  properly  organized,  and  therefore  was  not  a 
legislature,  but  a  mob.  But  who  is  to  decide 
whether  it  was  properly  organized  or  not  ?  Shall 
the  governor  of  Louisiana  decide  it  ?  He  had  no 
more  right  to  decide  it  than  you  or  I  have.  The 
Constitution  of  Louisiana  declares  that  "  each 
house  of  the  General  Assembly  shall  judge  of  the 
qualifications,  elections,  and  returns  of  its  mem 
bers."  So  the  Constitution  of  Massachusetts  de 
clares  that  the  Senate  and  the  House  shall  each 
be  the  final  judge  of  the  elections,  returns,  and 
qualifications  of  its  members.  Each  house,  also, 
by  the  Constitution,  adopts  its  own  rule  of  pro 
ceedings.  If  it  chooses  to  have  a  motion  put  by 
its  clerk,  it  may  ;  if  it  allows  a  motion  to  be  put 
by  one  of  its  own  members,  it  may.  But,  at  all 
events,  right  or  wrong,  the  question  of  its  organi 
zation  belongs  to  itself,  not  to  the  executive. 
Allow  the  governor  of  the  State  to  decide  whether 
a  certain  body  is  the  Legislature  or  only  a  mob, 


WASHINGTON.  293 

and  the  independence  of  the  Legislature  is  at  end. 
Listen  to  George  Washington's  opinion  on  this 
subject.  If  he  had  foreseen  this  very  case,  he 
could  not  have  expressed  himself  more  plainly  :  — • 

"  It  is  important,"  he  says,  in  his  Farewell 
Address,  "  that  the  habits  of  thinking,  in  a  free 
country,  should  inspire  caution  in  those  intrusted 
with  its  administration,  to  confine  themselves 
within  their  respective  constitutional  spheres, 
avoiding,  in  the  exercise  of  the  powers  of  one  de 
partment,  to  encroach  upon  another.  The  spirit 
of  encroachment  tends  to  consolidate  the  powers 
of  all  the  departments  in  one,  and  thus  to  create, 
whatever  the  form  of  government,  a  real  despot 
ism If,  in  the  opinion  of  the  people,  the  dis 
tribution  or  modification  of  the  constitutional  pow 
ers  be  in  any  particular  wrong,  let  it  be  corrected 
by  an  amendment  in  the  way  which  the  Constitu 
tion  designates.  But  let  there  be  no  change  by 
usurpation  ;  for  though  this,  in  one  instance,  may 
be  the  instrument  of  good,  it  is  the  customary 
weapon  by  which  free  governments  are  destroyed. 
The  precedent  must  always  greatly  overbalance 
in  permanent  evil  any  partial  or  transient  benefit 
which  the  use  can  at  any  time  yield." 

Many  good  people  think  that  the  rights  of  the 
colored  people  require  such  acts  of  military  inter 
ference  on  the  part  of  the  United  States.  If  this 
be  so,  then,  I  repeat,  reduce  the  Southern  States 
to  Territories,  and  keep  them  so  for  a  generation. 


294  WASHINGTON. 

But  do  not,  in  the  fancied  interests  of  the  colored 
people,  destroy,  one  by  one,  all  the  guarantees  of 
constitutional  liberty. 

Perhaps  I  may  be  considered  as  one  not  wholly 
indifferent  to  the  rights  of  the  colored  people  of 
the  South.  But  I  do  not  think  that  their  safety, 
peace,  happiness,  rights  will  be  best  secured  by 
such  gross  violations  of  the  rights  of  the  white 
people  of  the  South.  By  persecuting  the  white 
people  in  the  interests  of  the  blacks,  you  are  in 
tensifying  and  perpetuating  the  hatred  of  one 
race  to  another.  Their  mutual  interests  are  now 
the  same.  The  prosperity  of  the  whites,  who  arc 
owners  of  the  soil,  depends  on  the  good  will  of 
the  laborers  who  cultivate  it.  This  is  a  much 
better  security  for  their  good  treatment  than  a 
military  force.  What  John  A.  Andrew  saw  and 
said  nine  years  ago  is  still  the  only  true  method. 
He  proposed  to  reconstruct  the  South,  "not  by 
its  ignorance,  but  by  its  intelligence."  Governor 
Andrew  said,  in  his  farewell  address  to  the  Legis 
lature :  "We  ought  to  demand,  and  to  secure,  the 
cooperation  of  the  strongest  and  ablest  minds  and 
natural  leaders  of  opinion  in  the  South.  If  we 
cannot  gain  their  support  of  the  just  measures 
needful  for  the  work  of  safe  reorganization,  reor 
ganization  will  be  delusive  and  full  of  danger.  It 
would  be  idle  to  reorganize  those  States  by  the 
colored  vote.  I  would  not  consent,  having  res 
cued  those  States  bv  arms  from  secession  and  re- 


WASHINGTON.  295 

bellion,  to  turn  them  over  to  anarchy  and  chaos." 
Nothing  can  be  wiser,  nothing  more  true,  than 
this. 

The  danger  pointed  out  by  George  Washington, 
of  the  arrival  of  despotism  by  the  encroachment 
of  one  department  of  government  on  the  consti 
tutional  rights  of  another,  is  not  confined  to  Loui 
siana.  It  has  already  reached  Washington.  A 
bill  has  been  prepared  in  a  Republican  caucus, 
with  the  intention  of  forcing  it  through  Congress 
by  the  Republican  majority,  to  give  to  the  Presi 
dent  the  power,  according  to  his  own  discretion, 
of  suspending  the  bill  of  Habeas  Corpus  through 
out  the  Union.  The  first  article  of  the  Constitu 
tion  designates  the  powers  of  Congress  ;  and  in  the 
ninth  section  of  this  article  the  power  of  suspend 
ing  the  act  of  Habeas  Corpus,  but  only  in  times  of 
rebellion  or  invasion,  is  committed  to  Congress, 
and  to  Congress  only.  It  has  been  solemnly  de 
cided  by  the  courts  that  only  to  the  Legislature 
belongs  the  power  of  suspending  the  operation  of 
this  great  writ,  which  protects  the  personal  free 
dom  of  us  all.  Personal  liberty  is  safe,  and  is  only 
safe,  so  long  as  this  writ  is  in  force. 

The  power  of  party  has  shown  itself  in  nothing 
more  than  in  this  attempt  to  transfer  to  the  Pres 
ident  what  belongs  to  Congress.  I  have  always 
been  a  Republican  since  the  Republican  party  was 
first  formed.  I  have  never  voted  any  other  ticket. 
But  I  shall  feel  bound,  with  thousands  of  others, 


296  WASHINGTON. 

to  resist  to  the  last  such  encroachments  on  hu 
man  liberty,  such  rash  defiance  of  all  the  guaran 
tees  of  personal  rights,  as  is  here  attempted.  The 
foundation  of  Saxon  liberty  was  laid  here.  The 
chief  point  in  Magna  Charta  is  giving  the  protec 
tion  of  each  man's  freedom  to  the  national  legisla- 

O 

ture.  It  is  now  proposed  to  put  this  great  and 
terrible  power,  which  in  a  moment  may  deprive 
every  man  in  the  land  of  all  his  civil  rights,  into 
the  hands  of  the  President,  to  be  exercised  at  his 
own  discretion.  The  mere  suggestion  of  such  a 
surrender  of  the  great  guarantee  of  freedom  ought 
to  have  aroused  the  nation.  But  the  fact  that  it 
is  proposed  illustrates  the  tyranny  of  "party  and  of 
party  allegiance.  When  a  party  caucus  has  de 
cided  on  a  course,  any  politician  is  a  brave  man 
who  ventures  to  dissent.  "  The  caucus "  is  a 
power  not  mentioned  in  the  Constitution  ;  but, 
with  "the  ring"  and  "the  lobby,"  it  is  seeking 
to  take  possession  of  the  whole  government.  The 
tyranny  of  party  has  resulted,  as  all  tyranny  does, 
in  making  the  tyrant  a  slave.  The  tyrant,  Party, 
has  become  the  slave  of  the  despot,  Caucus. 

What  George  Washington  would  say  on  this 
subject  may  be  easily  known  from  his  advice  in 
regard  to  the  power  of  party  and  party  alle 
giance.  He  declares  it  to  be  a  "  fatal  tendency  " 
which  "  puts  the  will  of  a  party  in  the  place  of 
the  delegated  will  of  the  nation."  He  wisely 
says  that  most  parties  are  a  "  small  but  artful  and 


WASHINGTON.  297 

enterprising  minority  of  the  community,"  and  that 
"  the  alternate  triumphs  of  different  parties  will 
make  the  public  administration  the  mission  of  the 
ill-concerted  and  incongruous  projects  of  faction, 
rather  than  the  organ  of  consistent  and  wholesome 
plans,  digested  by  common  councils,  and  modified 
by  mutual  interests."  Washington  gives  us  a  sol 
emn  warning  against  the  spirit  of  party,  and  de 
clares  that  there  is  great  danger  to  our  institutions 
in  that  direction. 

We  may  be  sure,  then,  that  Washington  would 
have  favored  the  plan,  now  proposed,  which  will 
give  to  minorities  their  due  share  of  representa 
tion.  According  to  our  present  methods,  minori 
ties  have  little  or  no  influence  in  legislation.  In 
South  Carolina,  where  the  colored  vote  is  about 
fifty-four  per  cent,  of  the  whole,  the  colored  peo 
ple  hold  all  the  power.  In  Georgia,  where  the 
white  vote  has  a  small  majority,  the  white  people 
hold  all  the  power.  It  would  be  better,  in  both 
cases,  that  the  minority  should  be  adequately  rep 
resented.  According  to  our  present  system,  mi 
norities  have  no  rights  which  a  triumphant  party 
is  bound  to  respect. 

Another  point  on  which  Washington  dwells  in 
his  address  is  general  education.  He  urges  us  to 
promote,  as  an  object  of  primary  importance,  the 
general  diffusion  of  knowledge.  Since  public  opin 
ion,  in  this  country,  governs  all  things,  it  is  ab 
solutely  necessary  that  public  opinion  should  be 


298  WASHINGTON. 

enlightened.  Such  is  the  distinct  declaration  of 
Washington.  He  founds  the  necessity  and  duty 
of  public  free  schools  on  the  fact  that  the  whole 
government  of  the  country  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
whole  people.  Our  lives,  our  fortunes,  our  liber 
ties,  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  majority.  If  the 
people  are  instructed,  they  will  see  that  their  own 
interests  require  just  and  equal  laws.  If  they 
are  ignorant,  they  can  be  led  by  demagogues,  by 
priests,  by  selfish  politicians.  Free  institutions 
rest  on  common  schools. 

The  only  danger  to  common  schools  in  this 
country  is  from  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 
Since  the  declaration  of  Papal  Infallibility,  the 
Catholics  in  this,  and  in  every  other  country,  are 
bound  to  obey  the  decisions  of  the  Roman  court, 
and  that  is  in  the  hands,  as  the  most  distinguished 
Roman  Catholic  in  England,  Dr.  Newman,  informs 
1  us,  of  a  small  coterie  of  Jesuits.  The  public 
school  system  of  the  United  States  is  in  danger 
from  this  source,  and  from  this  source  only.  I 
regard  this  as  the  chief  danger  of  the  present 
time.  It  is  to  be  met  fairly,  justly,  and  courage 
ously.  Under  no  circumstances  whatever  must 
we  allow  the  sectarian  school  system  of  Europe 
to  be  substituted  for  the  public,  unsectarian  school 
system  of  America. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  thought  that  I  have  gone 
out  of  my  sphere  as  a  Christian  minister,  in  dis 
cussing  in  the  pulpit,  and  on  the  Lord's  day, 


WASHINGTON.  299 

questions  belonging  to  national  affairs.  I  have, 
indeed,  been  discussing  national  politics ;  but  not 
party  politics.  I  have  been  criticising  the  party 
to  which  I  myself  belong.  These  matters  concern 
the  rights,  the  freedom,  the  safety  of  the  nation  ; 
they  concern  the  permanency  of  republican  insti 
tutions.  If  there  be  any  matters  in  which  Chris 
tianity  is  and  ought  to  be  interested,  anything  for 
which  Christian  men  and  women  ought  to  care, 
anything  about  which  Christian  ministers  ought 
to  speak,  it  is  the  political  movements  and  acts 
which  involve  the  rights  and  duties  of  the  whole 
people.  Such  has  always  been  my  own  opinion ; 
such  has  always  been  my  own  course.  During 
many  years,  during  the  long  antislavery  struggle, 
I  was  frequently  accused  of  bringing  politics  into 
the  pulpit.  But  I  have  never  spoken  of  politics 
unless  when  politics  concerned  humanity.  I  am 
sorry  when  my  friends  differ  from  me,  or  when  I 
differ  from  my  friends ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  am  too 
old  now  to  change  my  course  in  this  matter,  unless 
I  see  stronger  reasons  for  doing  so  than  I  now  per 
ceive.  I  claim  no  authority  to  dictate  to  any  one ; 
others  have  a  right  to  their  opinions,  and  they 
may  be  more  sound  than  mine ;  but  I  must  hold 
my  own,  and  utter  them  when  it  seems  necessary. 
In  the  great  storm  which  drove  the  vessel  con 
taining  the  Apostle  Paul  on  the  shore  of  Malta, 
we  are  told  that  the  mariners  "  cast  four  anchors 
out  of  the  stern,  and  wished  for  day."  Our  four 


300  WASHINGTON. 

anchors,  holding  us  fast  from  behind,  are  the  ex 
amples  and  teachings  of  Washington,  Franklin, 
Jefferson,  and  Abraham  Lincoln.  The  first  rep 
resents  virtue  in  politics ;  the  second,  good  sense 
in  politics ;  the  third,  democracy  in  politics ;  the 
fourth,  humanity  in  politics.  Let  us  reverence 
these  great  examples  holding  us  firm  to  a  noble 
Past,  and  so  saving  us  for  a  better  Future.  With 
four  such  illustrious  lives  as  these  to  reverence,  to 
study,  and  to  follow,  we  may  feel  that  in  the  most 
stormy  hours,  and  the  darkest  nights,  we  may 
hold  safe  by  these  anchors  "  and  wish  for  day." 


XVI. 

SHAKSPEAEE. 


SHAKSPEARE.1 


WE  meet  to-day,  my  friends,  as  members  of  the 
great  family  which  speaks  the  English  tongue,  to 
commemorate  the  three  hundredth  birthday  of  the 
man  who,  in  pure  intellect,  stands  at  the  head  of 
the  human  race.  But  how  little  do  we  know  of 
Shakspeare,  except  in  his  works !  We  do  not 
know  how  to  spell  his  name  correctly.  We  can 
not  tell  the  day  he  was  born,  but  are  obliged  to 
assume  this  on  probable  grounds.  Whether  he 
went  to  school,  or  not,  is  uncertain.  The  busi 
ness  of  his  father  is  uncertain.  His  life,  till  he 
was  married,  is  a  blank.  After  that  date,  we  only 
know  that  he  had  three  children  ;  that  he  went 
to  London,  became  an  actor,  then  a  writer  of  plays, 
then  a  joint  proprietor  of  the  theatre  ;  that  he 
was  comparatively  wealthy  ;  returned  to  Strat 
ford,  and  died  at  the  age  bf  fifty-two. 

If,  therefore,  it  should  be  thought  desirable,  by 

1  Address  before  the  New  England  Historic-Genealogical  Society 
on  the  ter-centenary  celebration  of  the  birth  of  Shakspeare,  April 
23,  1864. 


304  8HAKSPEARE. 

the  critics  of  the  twentieth  century,  to  treat  Shak- 
speare  as  certain  critics  have  treated  Homer,  Mo 
ses,  and  Christ,  and  deny  his  existence,  they  have 
an  excellent  opportunity  and  ample  means  for 
their  destructive  analysis.  As  they  have  proved 
to  their  satisfaction  that  the  books  of  Moses  are 
composed  of  innumerable  independent  historical 
fragments  carefully  joined  together,  and  so  are  a 
Mosaic  work  only  in  the  artistic  sense  ;  as  they 
have  taken  away  Homer,  and  left  in  his  place  a 
company  of  anonymous  ballad-singers,  so  that  we 
are  able  to  settle  the  dispute  between  the  seven 
cities  which  claimed  to  be  his  birthplace,  by  giv 
ing  them  a  Homer  apiece,  and  having  several 
Homers  left;  as  these  able  chemical  critics  have 
analyzed  the  Gospels,  reducing  them  to  their  ele 
ments  of  legend,  myth,  and  falsehood,  with  the 
smallest  residuum  of  actual  history  :  so  much 
more  easily  can  they  dispose  of  the  historic  Shak- 
speare. 

See,  for  example,  how  they  might  proceed. 
They  might  say :  "  How  can  Shakspeare  have 
been  a  real  person,  when  his  very  name  is  spelled 
at  least  in  two  different  ways,  in  manuscripts  pro 
fessing  to  be  his  own  autograph  ;  and  when  it  is 
found  in  the  manuscripts  of  the  period  spelled  in 
every  form,  and  with  every  combination  of  letters 
which  express  its  sound  or  the  semblance  thereof  ? 
One  writer  of  his  time  calls  him  '  Shake-scene ; ' 
showing  plainly  the  mythical  origin  of  the  word. 


SHAKSPEARE.  305 

He  is  said  to  have  married,  at  eighteen,  a  woman 
of  twenty-six  —  which  is  not  likely ;  and  her 
name  also  has  a  mythical  character, — 4  Anne  Hath 
away,'  —  and  was  probably  derived  from  a  Shak- 
speare  song  addressed  to  a  lady  named  Anne,  the 
first  line  of  which  is  4  Anne  hath  a  way,  Anne 
hath  a  way/  If  he  were  a  real  person,  living  in 
London  in  the  midst  of  writers,  poets,  actors,  and 
eminent  men,  is  it  credible  that  no  allusion  should 
be  made  to  him  by  most  of  them  ?  He  was  con 
temporary  with  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Edmund 
Spenser,  Lord  Bacon,  Coke,  Cecil  Lord  Burleigh, 
Hooker,  Queen  Elizabeth,  Henry  IV.  of  France, 
Montaigne,  Tasso,  Cervantes,  Galileo,  Grotius ; 
and  not  one  of  these,  though  so  many  of  them 
were  voluminous  writers,  refers  to  any  such  per 
son,  and  no  allusion  to  any  of  them  appears  in  all 
his  plays.  He  is  referred  to,  to  be  sure,  with  ex 
cessive  admiration,  by  the  group  of  play-writers 
among  whom  he  is  supposed  to  move;  but  as 
there  is  not,  in  all  his  works,  the  least  allusion  in 
return  to  any  of  them,  we  may  presume  that  the 
name  Shakspeare  was  a  sort  of  nom  de  plume  to 
which  was  referred  all  anonymous  plays.  If  such 
a  man  existed,  why  did  not  others,  out  of  this  cir 
cle,  say  something  about  his  circumstances  and 
life  ?  Milton  was  eight  years  old  when  Shak 
speare  died,  and  might  have  seen  him,  as  he  took 
pains  to  go  and  see  Galileo,  who  was  born  in  the 
same  year  with  Shakspeare.  Oliver  Cromwell 

20 


306  SHAKSPEARE. 

was  seventeen  years  old  when  Shakspeare  died  ; 
Descartes,  twenty  years  old  ;  Rubens,  the  artist, 
thirty-nine  years  old.  None  of  them  had  heard 
of  him  ;  though  Rubens  resided  in  England,  and 
painted  numerous  portraits  there.  Spenser,  it  is 
true,  has  two  stanzas,  in  one  of  his  poerns,  that 
seem  undoubtedly  to  refer  to  this  mythological 
person  :  — 

" '  He,  the  man  whom  Nature's  self  had  made 
To  mock  herself,  and  Truth  to  imitate, 
With  kindly  counter  under  mimick  shade,  — 
Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah  !  is  dead  of  late  ; 
With  whom  all  joy  and  jolly  merriment 
Is  also  deaded,  and  in  dolour  drent/ 

"  But  this  only  proves  more  clearly  the  mythical 
character  of  Shakspeare  ;  since  the  poem,  in  which 
he  is  said  to  be  '  lately  dead,'  was  published  by 
Spenser  in  1591,  when  Shakspeare  is  stated  to 
have  been  twenty-seven,  —  twenty-five  years  be 
fore  the  date  given  for  his  death.  The  believers 
in  a  personal  Shakspeare  say,  indeed,  that  Spenser 
means  that  he  is  dead  to  literature,  having  left 
off  writing ;  and  quote  the  following  stanza  to 
support  this  view,  in  which  Spenser  thus  con 
tinues  :  — 

"  '  But  that  same  gentle  spirit,  from  whose  pen 
Large  streams  of  honey  and  sweet  nectar  flow, 
Scorning  the  boldness  of  such  hase-born  men 
Which  dare  their  follies  forth  so  rashly  throw, 
Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  cell, 
Than  so  himself  to  mockery  to  sell.' 


SIIAKSPEARE.  307 

"  But,  unfortunately  for  this  theory,  so  far  from 
leaving  off  writing,  Shakspeare  had  hardly  begun 
to  write  then,  and  did  not  print  his  first  work  till 
two  years  after." 

In  this  way  the  critic  might  argue  to  prove 
the  non-existence  of  any  personal  Shakspeare.  He 
might  add  that  there  is  something  quite  suspi 
cious  in  his  being  said  to  have  been  born  and  to 
have  died  on  the  same  day  of  the  month  —  April 
23  ;  and  in  the  fact  that  Cervantes  was  said  to 
die  the  same  day  as  Shakspeare  —  April  23, 
1616  ;  and  Michael  Angelo  in  the  same  year. 
The  year  of  his  birth,  he  might  add,  seems  to  have 
some  mythical  significance ;  since  Calvin  is  said 
to  have  died,  and  Galileo  to  have  been  born,  each 
in  1564.  The  critic  might  add  that  many  great 
events  occurred  in  his  supposed  lifetime,  to  none 
of  which  he  has  alluded,  —  as  the  battle  of  Le- 
panto  ;  the  Bartholomew  Massacre ;  the  defeat  of 
the  Spanish  Armada  ;  the  first  circumnavigation  of 
the  world  ;  the  Gunpowder  Plot ;  the  deliverance 
of  Holland  from  Spain  ;  the  invention  of  the  tele 
scope,  and  the  discovery  therewith  of  Jupiter's 
satellites.  In  an  era  of  great  controversy  between 
the  Roman  Catholics  and  Protestants,  no  one  can 
tell  from  his  works  whether  he  was  Catholic  or 
Protestant.  "  Unlike  Dante,  Milton,  and  Goethe, 
he  left  no  trace  on  the  political  or  even  social  life 
of  his  time."  And,  finally,  our  twentieth-century 
critic  may  say,  that  already,  in  1857  and  1866,  two 


308  SHAKSPEARE. 

American  writers  (Miss  Delia  Bacon  and  Judge 
Holmes)  published  books  to  show  that  Shak- 
speare's  plays  were  not  written  by  Shakspeare, 
but  by  Lord  Bacon. 

So  little  has  been  learned  in  the  last  three 
centuries  concerning  this  miracle  of  the  human 
mind.  A  whole  pack  of  Shakspeare  scholars  have 
been  on  his  track  with  the  sagacity  and  persever 
ance  of  sleuth  hounds.  Every  trace  of  Shakspeare 
has  been  examined  with  microscopic  care  ;  every 
muniment-room,  with  its  mound  of  musty  paper, 
has  been  dug  over  and  sifted,  as  men  sift  the  sands 
of  Australian  rivers  in  search  of  gold  ;  and  with 
what  result?  Two  or  three  autographs  of  his 
name,  spelt  in  two  or  three  different  ways;  and 
half  a  dozen  allusions  to  him  by  his  contempora 
ries.  It  has  been  discovered  that  his  father  was 
named  John,  and  was  either  a  glover,  a  farmer,  a 
butcher,  or  a  dealer  in  wool ;  that  his  father  mar 
ried  a  daughter  of  the  gentry,  —  Mary  Arden, — 
and  lost  his  property  in  his  latter  days  ;  that  there 
is  good  reason  for  thinking  that  Shakspeare  him 
self  was  well  acquainted  with  Latin,  Greek,  Italian, 
and  French  ;  good  reason  also  for  thinking  that  he 
was  not.  The  story  of  his  stealing  the  deer  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy  is  believed  by  Richard  Grant  White ; 
who,  however,  says  that  "  we  know  nothing  posi 
tively  of  Shakspeare  from  his  birth  till  his  mar 
riage  ;  and,  from  that  date,  nothing  until  we  find 
him  an  actor  in  London  about  the  year  1589,  he 


SHAKSPEARE.  309 

being  then  twenty-five  years  of  age.  Here  he 
became  actor,  afterwards  dramatic  writer,  and 
finally  also  proprietor  of  one  of  the  theatres.  The 
success  of  his  plays  was  immediate  and  great : 
they  filled  the  theatres,  —  '  cockpit,  galleries, 
boxes,'  says  a  contemporary.  In  1597,  when 
thirty-three  years  old,  he  was  able  to  purchase  the 
finest  house  in  Stratford  ;  and,  in  the  same  year, 
invested  in  the  securities  of  his  town  a  sum  equal 
to  about  thirteen  thousand  dollars."  l  Nothing  is 

1  "But  Shakspeare  continued  to  hold  his  property  in  the 
theatre.  In  1608  the  corporation  of  London  again  attempted 
to  interfere  with  the  actors  of  the  Blackfriars  ;  and,  there  being 
little  chance  of  ejecting  them  despotically,  a  negotiation  was  set 
on  foot  for  the  purchase  of  their  property.  A  document  found 
by  Mr.  Collier  amongst  the  Egerton  Papers  at  once  determined 
Shakspeare's  position  in  regard  to  his  theatrical  proprietorship. 
It  is  a  valuation,  containing  the  following  item  :  — 

"  '  Item.  —  W.  Shakspeare  asketh,  for  the  wardrobe  and  prop 
erties  of  the  same  playhouse,  £500 :  and  for  his  four  shares,  the 
same  as  his  fellows  Burbidge  and  Fletcher;  viz.,  £933  6s.  80?. 
£1,433  6s.  8d.' 

"  With  this  document  was  found  another,  unquestionably  the 
most  interesting  paper  ever  published  relating  to  Shakspeare.  It 
is  a  letter  from  Lord  Southampton  to  Lord  Ellesmere,  the  lord 
chancellor ;  and  it  contains  the  following  passage  :  — 

" '  These  bearers  are  two  of  the  chief  of  the  company ;  one  of 
them  by  name  Richard  Burbidge,  who  humbly  sueth  for  -your 
lordship's  kind  help ;  for  that  he  is  a  man  famous  as  our  English 
Roseius,  one  who  fitteth  the  action  to  the  word,  and  the  word  to 
the  action,  most  admirably.  By  the  exercise  of  his  quality,  in 
dustry,  and  good  behavior,  he  hath  become  possessed  of  the 
Blackfriars  Playhouse,  which  hath  been  employed  for  plays  since 
it  was  built  by  his  father,  now  near  fifty  years  ago.  The  other  is 
a  man  no  whit  less  deserving  favor,  and  my  especial  friend,  till 


310  SHA  KSPEARE. 

known  of  his  intercourse  with  actors,  or  men  of 
letters,  except  the  admiration  expressed  for  him 
by  Ben  Jonson,  the  praise  of  Chettle,  and  a  few 
vague  rumors.  He  gave  up  the  stage  about  1604, 
when  forty  years  old,  and  returned  to  Stratford  to 
live  when  about  forty-six.  He  was  said  to  have 
been  "a  handsome,  well-shaped  man."  From  all 
the  portraits,  and  the  bust,  it  is  evident  that  his 
head,  like  those  of  Homer,  Plato,  Napoleon,  and 
Goethe,  was  fully  developed,  and  a  fit  dome  of 
thought ;  probably  the  noblest  head,  in  its  shape, 
of  which  we  have  any  artistic  record. 

But,  though  the  Shakspeare  scholars  do  not 
furnish  us  with  much  beside  this  "  tombstone  in 
formation,''  they  have  helped  us  to  form  a  picture 
of  his  life  by  showing  the  character  of  the  times. 

of  late  an  actor  of  good  account  in  the  company,  now  a  sharer  in 
the  same,  and  writer  of  some  of  our  best  English  plays,  which, 
as  your,  lordship  knoweth,  were  most  singularly  liked  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  when  the  company  was  called  upon  to  perform  before 
her  majesty  at  court  at  Christmas  and  Shrovetide. 

" '  His  most  gracious  majesty  King  James  also,  since  his  com 
ing  to  the  crown,  hath  extended  his  royal  favor  to  the  company 
in  divers  ways  and  at  sundry  times. 

" '  This  other  hath  to  name  William  Shakspeare  :  and  they  are 
both  of  one  county,  and  indeed  almost  of  one  town;  both  are 
right  famous  in  their  qualities,  though  it  lougeth  not  to  your 
lordship's  gravity  and  wisdom  to  resort  unto  the  places  where  they 
are  wont  to  delight  the  public  ear.  Their  trust  and  suit  now  is, 
not  to  be  molested  in  their  way  of  life  whereby  they  maintain 
themselves  and  their  wives  and  families  (being  both  married 
and  of  good  reputation),  as  well  as  the  widows  and  orphans  of 
some  of  their  dead  fellows.'  "  —  Knight's  English  Cyclopaidia,  art. 
SHAKSPEARK. 


SHAKSPEARE.  311 

Shakspeare  lived  in  that  period  known  as  the 
Renaissance,  —  the  new  birth  of  the  human  in 
tellect.  The  great  wave  of  mental  life  which 
rolled  over  Italy  in  the  previous  century  at  last 
reached  the  shores  of  England.  Europe  had  dis 
covered  that  there  was  knowledge  outside  of  the 
Church  formulas.  The  literatures  of  Greece  and 
Rome  had  been  unlocked  ;  and,  instead  of  a  barren 
theology  and  a  dead  philosophy,  the  intellect  of 
mankind  bathed  in  the  pure  waters  of  Hellenic 
and  Latin  knowledge.  It  was  the  fashion  with 
men  and  women  to  read  Homer  and  Plato,  Soph 
ocles  and  Euripides,  Virgil,  Tacitus,  and  Cicero. 
In  England,  at  this  time,  the  drama  was  the  vehi 
cle  of  instruction  and  entertainment.  It  took 
the  place  now  occupied  by  newspaper  and  novel. 
The  land  swarmed  with  strolling  players.  Every 
great  nobleman  had  his  private  company  of  act 
ors.  In  London,  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  the 
corporation  and  the  Puritans,  several  theatres  had 
been  opened.  Fourteen  of  them  we  find  exist 
ing  at  the  same  time,  in  and  near  London,  during 
Shakspeare's  life.  They  were  named  the  Theatre, 
the  Curtain,  the  Globe,  Blackfriars,  Paris  Garden, 
Whitefriars,  Salisbury  Court,  the  Fortune,  the 
Rose,  Hope,  the  Swan,  Newington,  the  Red  Bull, 
Cockpit,  and  Phenix.  The  top  was  open  to  the 
sun  and  rain :  the  people  stood  in  the  pit,  and  sat 
on  benches  in  the  rooms  and  boxes,  and  also  on 
the  stage  itself.  There  were  few  properties,  and 


812  SUAKSPEARE. 

little  scenery :  sometimes  they  had  to  hang  up  a 
placard,  on  which  was  written,  in  large  letters, 
"  A  Castle,"  "  A  Country  House,"  "  A  Temple," 
"  A  Ship ;  "  and  the  audience  were  thus  requested 
to  imagine  themselves  in  the  presence  of  these  ob 
jects.  The  dining-hour  in  London  being  twelve, 
the  plays  began  at  three,  and  lasted  two  hours : 
admission  at  first,  a  penny  ;  by  and  by,  sixpence. 
Those  who  sat  on  the  stage  had  a  three-legged 
stool,  and  paid  a  shilling.  The  rage  for  new  plays 
was  great.  Every  theatre  had  authors  at  work, 
writing  new  plays.  Thomas  Heywood  says  he 
wrote  part  or  the  whole  of  two  hundred  and 
twenty.  Philip  Henslowe,  whose  diary  has  been 
recently  discovered,  a  proprietor  or  manager  of 
one  of  the  theatres,  states  that  he  purchased  a 
hundred  and  ten  new  plays  between  1591  and 
1597 ;  and,  in  the  next  five  years,  a  hundred  and 
sixty  more.  People  wanted  a  new  play  then,  just 
as  they  now  wish  for  a  fresh  newspaper  or  novel : 
the  old  ones  did  for  yesterday ;  but  others  are 
needed  to-day.  The  prices  paid  for  them  varied 
from  five  pounds  to  twelve.  Before  1600,  eight 
pounds  was  the  highest ;  which  would  be  equal  to 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  at  this  time. 
When  plays  had  been  thus  purchased,  they  be 
came  the  property  of  the  theatre,  and  the  authors 
abandoned  all  care  of  them.  As  there  was  no 
copyright  to  be  had,  the  theatre  could  only  keep 
them  by  not  printing  them.  Even  then,  they 


SHAKSPEARE,  313 

were  sometimes  printed  by  emissaries  from  rival 
theatres,  who  "  copied  by  the  ear."  Thomas 
Hey  wood  says,  "  Though  some  have  used  a  double 
sale  of  their  labors,  —  first  to  the  stage,  and  after 
to  the  press,  —  I  here  proclaim  myself  faithful  to 
the  first,  and  never  guilty  of  the  last." 

We  see  how  it  was  that  Shakspeare  did  not 
print  his  plays  himself  in  his  life-time.  It  was  not 
because  of  any  ostrich-like  indifference  to  them, 
but  simply  that  they  did  not  belong  to  him.  He 
had  sold  them  to  the  theatre.  We  see  also  one 
reason  of  the  corruptions  of  the  text,  —  many  of 
them  had  been  pirated,  and  were  printed  from 
copies  taken  by  the  ear,  and,  as  Heywood  says 
of  his,  were  "  so  corrupt  and  mangled,  that  I  have 
been  as  unable  to  know  them  as  ashamed  to  chal 
lenge  them." 

That  Shakspeare  knew  the  worth  of  his  plays, 
we  cannot  doubt.  He  must  have  been  intensely 
conscious  of  their  vast  superiority.  But  literary 
fame,  in  the  common  sense,  they  did  not  bring 
at  first.  His  library  works  were  "  Venus  and 
Adonis"  and  "  Lucrece."  Plays,  as  yet,  had  not 
become  a  part  of  literature.  After  this  Ben  Jon- 
son  was  universally  ridiculed  for  calling  a  collec 
tion  of  his  dramas  his  "  Works."  When  genius 
flows  into  any  new  channel,  and  appears  in  a  new 
form,  it  takes  some  half  century  before  it  can  be 
recognized.  But  at  last  its  day  comes,  certainly 
and  inevitably,  though  mysteriously ;  and  the 


314  SHAKSPEARE. 

world  learns  to  love  a  great  poet,  much  as  Shak- 
speare  himself  describes  the  growth  of  a  youthful 
affection :  — 

"  The  idea  of  his  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  its  study  of  imagination  ; 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  his  mind 
Shall  come  appareled  in  more  precious  habit, 
More  moving,  delicate,  and  full  of  life, 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  its  soul." 

In  this  deficiency  of  information  concerning  the 
life  of  the  great  Poet  of  Humanity,  recourse  has 
been  had  to  his  sonnets,  which  have  been  thought 
to  be  a  journal  of  his  inmost  soul.  Some  persons, 
indeed,  think  these  wonderful  poems  to  be  the 
mere  play  of  fancy  ;  but  others  believe  them  to 
be,  as  Wordsworth  says,  "  the  key  with  which  he 
unlocked  his  heart."  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  last  view  is  the  true  one.  It  has  been  no  un 
usual  thing  for  poets  to  put  their  deepest  life  into 
their  poems,  and  keep  a  private  journal  in  verse. 
Horace  says  of  Lucilius,  "that  he  committed  the 
secrets  of  his  soul  to  his  boo^s,  as  to  faithful 
friends ;  going  to  confide  in  them  his  joy  and  his 
grief:  so  that  the  whole  life  of  the  old  man  ap 
pears  painted  in  his  poems  as  in  votive  pictures." 
Goethe  also  says  of  himself,  that,  "  in  prose,  no 
one  willingly  confesses  himself ;  but  in  poetry  we 
trust  ourself  sub  rosd,  as  in  a  true  confessional. 

"  Youthful  grief  and  riper  wrong 
In  my  stanzas  echo  long  : 
Joy  and  pain  both  turn  to  song." 


SHAKSPEARE.  315 

So,  when  we  read  these  sonnets,  we  seem  to  stand 
by  the  door  of  the  confessional,  and  listen  to  the 
most  secret  secrets  of  the  heart  of  Shakspeare. 
These  mysteries  are  veiled  in  a  language  so  won 
derfully  delicate,  that  it  at  once  tells  all,  and  tells 
nothing.  Shakspeare,  so  wholly  objective  in  his 
dramas  ;  with  such  absolute  impersonality  passing 
into  one  and  another  of  his  characters ;  so  impar 
tial,  so  inclusive,  giving  every  side  of  life  its  due ; 
ranging  through  such  a  compass  of  notes,  from 
the  deep  organ  diapason  of  "  King  Lear  "  to  the 
wild  melody  of  "  The  Tempest "  and  airy  carols 
of  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  —  here,  in  his 
sonnets,  comes  to  himself ;  is  all  personality ;  is 
wholly  subjective.  As  no  writer  who  ever  lived 
left  himself  so  entirely  out  of  his  works  as  Shak 
speare  does  in  his  plays,  so  no  writer  ever  gave  us 
himself  so  purely  and  personally  as  Shakspeare 
does  in  his  sonnets. 

In  saying  this  we  have  not  forgotten  the  son 
nets  of  Petrarch.  The  difference  between  these 
and  Shakspeare's  comes  from  the  circumstance 
that  Petrarch's  give  us  the  picture  of  a  lover  pos 
sessed  by  his  love.  It  is  the  agitated  surface  of  a 
mind  swept  by  winter  storms  of  passion,  or  sleep 
ing  in  the  summer  calms  of  purely  emotional  re 
pose.  But  from  how  much  deeper  depth  does  the 
life  of  Shakspeare  flow  into  his  !  It  is  not  pas 
sion,  but  active  devotion.  It  is  love,  so  purified 
by  truth  from  merely  selfish  emotion,  that  it 


316  SHAKSPEARE. 

might  be  felt  in  one  angel  in  heaven  for  another. 
Somehow  it  is  perfectly  real  yet  ideal  too.  It 
seeks  no  earthly  gratification  ;  there  is  no  jealous 
monopoly  in  it,  no  self-delusion.  He  sees  all  the 
faults  of  his  friend ;  he  tells  him  of  his  vices.  His 
love  does  not  claim  any  return  :  it  is  sufficient  for 
itself.  We  may  all  agree  with  Mr.  Alger  that 
these  sonnets  mainly  describe  the  friendship  of 
Shakspeare  for  a  noble  and  wonderful  young  man, 
—  perhaps  William  Herbert,  or  perhaps  the  Earl 
of  Southampton.  Some  lines  of  Ben  Jonson  de 
scribe  well  the  character  of  this  friendship  of 
Shakspeare :  — 

"  "Tis  not  a  passion's  first  access, 

Ready  to  multiply ; 
But,  like  Love's  calmest  state,  it  is 
Possessed  with  victory  : 

"  It  is  like  Love  to  truth  reduced, 

All  the  false  values  gone 
Which  were  created  or  induced 
By  fond  imagination." 

A  friendship  something  like  this  was  felt  by 
Goethe  and  Schiller ;  and,  in  our  time,  we  have  a 
parallel  to  the  hundred  and  twenty-six  sonnets 
addressed  by  Shakspeare  to  his  boy  friend  in  the 
hundred  and  twenty-nine  poems  addressed  by 
Tennyson  to  his  lost  friend,  Arthur  Hallam.  Al 
lowing  for  the  difference  of  times  and  customs, 
the  tone  and  spirit  of  these  two  collections  are 
strikingly  the  same. 


SHAKSPEARE.  317 

The  history  of  opinion  in  regard  to  Shakspeare 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  records  of  the  prog 
ress  of  human  ideas.  He  stands  in  the  flowing 
current  of  thought,  as  the  Nilometer  in  the  Nile ; 
tind  the  level  of  taste  and  intelligence  at  any  time 
is  shown  by  its  relation  to  him.  As  far  up  as  it 
reaches  on  the  mind  of  Shakspeare,  so  high  is 
the  rise  of  human  thought.  In  his  own  day  he 
was  the  most  popular  of  writers.  "  The  common 
people  heard  him  gladly."  Whenever  his  plays 
were  performed,  the  Globe  Theatre  was  full,  — 
in  the  pit,  box-rooms,  galleries.  But  the  literary 
men,  though  they  liked  him,  rather  treated  him 
de  Tiaut  en  las.  His  immense  popularity  with 
the  people  they  could  not  ignore :  and  Meres,  in 
1598,  when  Shakspeare  was  thirty-six  years  old, 
mentions  twelve  of  his  plays  by  name  ;  compares 
him  with  Ovid  ;  calls  him  "  honey-tongued  Shak 
speare  ;  "  speaks  of  "  his  sugared  sonnets  among 
his  private  friends ;  "  and  concludes,  that,  if  the 
Muses  spoke  English,  they  would  use  his  "  fine- 
filed  phrase."  l 

1  "  As  the  Greek  tongue  is  made  famous  and  eloquent  by  Ho 
mer,  Hesiod,  Euripides,  JEschylus,  Sophocles,  Pindarus,  Pho- 
cylides,  and  Aristophanes  ;  and  the  Latin  tongue  by  Virgil, 
Ovid,  Horace,  Silius  Italicus,  Lucanus,  Lucretius,  Ausonius,  and 
Claudianus  :  so  the  English  tongue  is  mightily  enriched,  and  gor 
geously  invested  in  rare  ornaments  and  respl<  ndent  Imbiliments, 
by  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Spenser,  Daniel,  Drayton,  Warner,  Shak- 
speare,  Marlow,  and  Chapman. 

"  As  the  soul  of  Euphorbus  was  thought  to  live  in  Pythagoras, 
so  the  sweet,  witty  soul  of  Ovid  lives  in  mellifluous  and  honey- 


318  SHAKSPEARE. 

That  King  James  liked  Shakspeare  was  then 
counted  to  Shakspeare's  honor :  now  it  is  a  great 
thing  for  King  James,  and  saves  him  from  being 
thought  only  a  pedant.  Always  those  who  be 
lieved  they  were  judging  Shakspeare,  were,  in 
fact,  only  judging  themselves. 

In  truth,  these  plays  were  not  thought  at  first 
to  belong  to  literature  at  all.  The  drama,  in 
England,  was  a  newly  created  form  of  art.  Every 
new  form  of  art  is  first  enjoyed  without  being  ad 
mired  ;  afterwards  it  is  admired  without  being  en 
joyed.  It  comes  up  to  meet  a  popular  desire  or 
a  real  want ;  comes  to  be  used,  not  to  be  looked 
at.  Literary  criticism  has  not  reached  it  ;  con 
siders  it,  in  fact,  below  its  level.  Shakspeare 
himself  appears  to  have  "thought  his  "  Venus  and 
Adonis  "  and  "  Lucrece  "  his  first-written  literary 
works ;  though,  when  these  were  published,  he 

tongued  Shakspeare  :  witness  his  '  Venus  and  Adonis/  his  '  Lu 
crece/  his  sugared  sonnets  among  his  private  friends,  etc. 

"  As  Plautus  and  Seneca  are  accounted  the  best  for  comedy  and 
tragedy  among  the  Latins;  so  Shakspeare,  among  the  English,  is 
the  most  excellent  in  both  kinds  for  the  stage  :  for  comedy,  wit 
ness  his  '  Gentleman  of  Verona/  his  '  Errors/  his  '  Love's  La 
bor  's  Lost/  his  '  Love's  Labor  's  Won/  his  '  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream/  and  his  *  Merchant  of  Venice  ; '  for  tragedy,  his  '  Rich 
ard  II./  '  Richard  III./  '  Henry  IV.,'  '  King  John/  '  Titus  An- 
dronicus/  and  his  '  Romeo  and  Juliet.' 

"  As  Epius  Stola  said  that  the  Muses  would  speak  with  Plau- 
tus's  tongue  if  they  would  speak  Latin,  so  I  say  that  the  Muses 
would  speak  with  Shakspeare's  fine-filed  phrase  if  they  would 
speak  English." 


SHAKSPEARE.  319 

had  already  composed  many  of  his  dramatic  mas 
terpieces.  So  Shakspeare's  contemporaries  loved 
him  very  tenderly,  —  "  this  side  idolatry,"  says 
Ben  Jonson.  They  called  him  "  pleasant  Willy," 
and  other  endearing  epithets.  They  very  much 
enjoyed  his  plays  ;  but  as  works  of  art  —  no,  they 
were  too  irregular  for  that. 

.  So,  all  through  the  next  century,  Shakspeare 
was  regarded  as  a  wild,  irregular  genius,  —  very 
agreeable,  but  not  very  authentic  in  a  literary 
point  of  view.  Even  Milton's  best  allusion  to 
him  says : — 

"  Sweetest  Shakspeare,  Fancy's  child, 
Warbles  his  native  wood-notes  ivild" 

William  Bosse,  in  1621,  requests  Spenser,  Chau 
cer,  and  Beaumont  to  lie  a  little  nearer  to  each 
other  in  their  graves,  to  make  room  for  the  "  rare 
tragedian,  Shakspeare."  And,  in  the  same  style, 
Holland  and  Digges  and  Jasper  Mayne,  Dave- 
nant  and  Shirley,  and  the  like,  eulogize  his  wild 
fancy  and  irregular  genius  ;  till  good  Dr.  John 
son  comes  and  gives  us  the  picture  of  "  Time " 
toiling  after  him,  and  losing  his  breath  trying  to 
overtake  him.  Pope  informs  us  that  Shakspeare 
wrote  for  gain,  and  "  became  immortal  in  his  own 
despite."  Gray  calls  him  "  Nature's  darling." 
Churchill  says  that  "a  noble  wildness  flashes 
from  his  eyes  ;  "  and  at  last  Voltaire  arrives,  and 
gives  us  the  ultimatum  of  this  sort  of  criticism  in 
his  famous  account  of  Hamlet :  — 


320  SHAKSPEARE, 

"  It  is  a  gross  and  barbarous  piece,  which  would  not 
be  endured  by  the  vilest  populace  of  France  or  Italy. 
Hamlet  goes  crazy  in  the  second  act ;  his  mistress  goes 
crazy  in  the  third.  The  prince  kills  the  father  of  his 
mistress,  pretending  to  kill  a  rat.  They  dig  a  grave  on 
the  stage.  The  grave-diggers  say  abominably  gross 
things,  holding  the  skulls  of  the  dead  in  their  hands. 
Hamlet  replies  in  answers  no  less  disgusting  and  silly 
than  theirs.  During  this  time,  Poland  is  conquered  by 
one  of  the  actors.  Hamlet,  his  mother  and  father-in- 
law,  drink  together  on  the  stage  :  they  sing,  quarrel, 
fight,  and  kill  each  other.  One  would  think  this  play 
the  work  of  the  imagination  of  a  drunken  savage." 

Shakspeare  may  be  said  to  have  been  rediscov 
ered  in  Germany,  —  first  by  Lessing,  afterward 
by  Goethe  and  his  friends.  Gervinus,  whose  work, 
lately  translated,  gives  us  the  whole  literature  of 
the  matter  in  two  large  volumes  of  exhaustive  crit 
icism,  says  that  Lessing  was  the  man  who  first 
valued  Shakspeare  according  to  his  true  desert, 
and  Goethe  the  first  who  gave  an  example  of 
the  true  method  of  criticism.  Then  Schlegel  and 
Tieck  in  Germany,  Coleridge  and  Lamb  in  Eng 
land,  assisted  in  the  rehabilitation  of  Shakspeare. 
They  proved  tbat  he  was  as  much  of  an  artist  as 
of  a  genius  ;  that  he  is  as  full  of  wisdom  as  of 
fancy  ;  that  his  supposed  faults  are  often  his 
greatest  merits  ;  and  that  no  one  is  quite  great 
enough  yet  fully  to  know  him. 

The  effect  on  literature  of  this  new-born  love 


SHAKSPEARE.  321 

for  Shakspeare  was  most  beneficial.  The  dead, 
dry  literature  of  the  eighteenth  century  came  to 
life  when  the  body  of  Shakspeare  touched  it,  as 
the  corpse  revived,  and  stood  on  its  feet,  when  it 
touched  the  bones  of  Elisha.  Thus  the  course  of 
thought  in  regard  to  our  poet  has  been  like  the 
course  of  his  own  brook,  —  falling  at  one  time 
over  rough  pebbles  and  hard  critical  rocks,  but 
again  resuming  its  sweet  and  placid  course  with  an 
ever-deepening,  ever-enlarging  volume  of  water :  — 

"The  current  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides, 
Thou  knowest,  being  stopt,  impatiently  doth  rage ; 
But,  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered, 
He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enameled  stones, 
Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 
He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage  : 
And  so,  by  many  winding  nooks,  he  strays, 
With  willing  course,  to  the  wild  ocean." 

Thus  the  opinion  of  the  world,  under  the  guid 
ance  of  the  greatest  thinkers,  has  tended  more 
and  more  to  this  result,  —  that  WILLIAM  SHAK 
SPEARE  stands  at  the  summit  of  human  intelli 
gence  ;  that  of  all  mankind,  since  creation,  his  is 
the  supreme  intellect.  But,  if  so,  this  conclusion 
follows, — that  the  imagination  is  the  highest  in 
tellectual  faculty  ;  for,  in  him,  all  others  were 
subordinate  to  that.  That  power  of  creation,  al 
most  divine,  which  most  likens  man  to  God,  was 
supreme  in  him.  Compare  him  with  other  think 
ers  ;  with  great  metaphysicians,  like  Plato,  Aris 
totle,  Descartes,  Spinoza,  Bacon  ;  and  how  poor 
21 


322  SHAKSPEARE. 

does  their  analysis  seem  by  the  side  of  his  majestic 
synthesis  !  They  can  take  a  man  to  pieces :  he 
can  create  new  men.  Consider  great  mathemati 
cians  and  naturalists,  like  Newton,  Galileo,  Leib 
nitz,  Pascal :  they  can  observe  the  laws  of  Nature 
which  are  the  skeleton  of  the  universe  ;  but  Shak- 
speare  brings  before  us  the  universe  itself,  vitalized 
and  harmonious  in  every  part.  All  master  intel 
lects  make  use  of  the  imagination :  nothing  can  be 
done  in  the  world  without  it.  Imagination  is  the 
most  practical  of  all  the  intellectual  faculties :  it 
collects  all  the  broken  and  scattered  knowledges  of 
the  mind  into  one  complete  picture.  But  in  most 
thinkers,  even  in  great  thinkers,  it  is  the  servant 
of  other  faculties.  The  one  distinction  between 
Shakspeare  and  all  others  is  this,  —  that  in  him 
all  other  faculties  were  subordinated  to  this :  he 
was,  as  he  describes  his  poet,  "  of  imagination  all 
compact."  Observation,  reason,  memory,  wit,  hu 
mor,  the  analytic  judgment,  the  critical  under 
standing,  —  all  were  its  willing  servants ;  all 
brought  their  gifts  of  gold  and  silver,  iron  and 
stone,  gems  and  pearls,  to  be  used  by  this  impe 
rial  faculty.  No  matter  what  is  the  special  theme 
and  spirit  of  his  subject:  it  comes  immediately 
and  submissively  under  the  rule  of  its  king  and 
chief.  In  his  historic  plays,  or  histories,  memory 
is  the  chief  servant  of  the  imagination.  It  brings 
the  characters,  events,  costume,  and  tone  of  a  past 
age,  taken  bodily  out  of  books  or  previous  plays; 


SHAKSPEARE.  323 

but  they  are  all  immediately  harmonized  and  vital 
ized  by  the  creative  idea.  We  are  carried  back  to 
the  streets  of  Rome  in  the  days  of  Caesar.  Faith 
fully  taking  his  facts  from  Plutarch  in  Thomas 
North's  translation  (1579),  he  places  us  behind 
the  scenes  ;  shows  us  Rome  as  it  looked  to  the 
eyes  and  mind,  first  of  Brutus,  then  of  Caesar,  then 
of  Antony.  All  the  minutest  details  he  accepts 
from  Plutarch :  he  copies  the  text  with  a  ser 
vile  fidelity,  and  then,  by  this  wonderful  power, 
breathes  life  into  this  dry  dust  of  history.  If  we 
had  been  in  Rome  at  the  time  of  Caesar's  death, 
we  should  not  have  known  as  much  of  it  as  we  can 
now  know  through  the  mediation  of  Shakspeare. 

In  these  histories  his  imagination  is  served  by 
memory ;  but  in  such  dramas  as  the  "  Tempest " 
and  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  another 
faculty,  —  namely,  FANCY  —  is  called  up  to  show 
its  loyalty  to  the  same  chief.  As  memory,  uncon 
trolled  by  imagination,  gives  only  dry  and  dead 
facts,  showing  the  mere  outside  of  things,  details 
unconnected  by  any  law ;  so  fancy,  uncontrolled 
by  imagination,  gives  no  clear  picture,  but  only 
kaleidoscopic  changes.  We  have  enough  of  wild 
fantastic  fairy  tales,  extravaganzas  where  no  law 
restrains  the  willfulness  of  fancy ;  but  Shakspeare's 
fairies  —  like  Ariel,  like  Puck,  like  Oberon,  like 
Titania  —  are  persons.  Though  the  whole  scene 
is  in  Dreamland,  yet  here  Dreamland  becomes  a 
reality,  has  laws  of  its  own,  a  unity  pervading  and 


324  SHAKSPEARE. 

restraining  all  its  wildest  variety ;  showing  that 
one  idea  is  steadily  in  the  master's  mind,  polar 
izing  all  details  toward  itself. 

Then  take  another  class  of  plays,  —  the  reflec 
tive  dramas,  like  "  Hamlet,"  like  "  Lear,"  or 
"  Othello."  Here  the  characteristic  faculty  at 
work  throughout  is  reason,  —  and  analytic  rea 
son.  These  masterpieces  are  strictly  philosophic 
studies  of  human  nature.  The  human  mind  is 
searched  to  the  core,  tried  by  every  test  and  re 
agent, —  shocked  by  terror,  melted  by  passion, 
dissolved  in  grief  and  pity,  put  into  the  fiery 
crucible  of  terrible  anguish,  subjected  to  the  ques 
tion  by  torture,  till  every  element  of  human  nature 
is  disclosed.  And  yet,  during  all  this  most  de 
structive  analysis,  the  central  life  of  each  person 
remains :  the  personal  identity  is  not  reached. 
Hamlet,  Lear,  Othello,  do  not  fall  apart  into  ab 
stractions  of  jealousy,  rage,  misanthropy :  they 
remain  persons,  and  their  lives  are  the  real  lives 
of  men. 

Then  there  are  the  social  dramas,  —  charming 
scenes  of  daily  life.  Refined  social  intercourse ; 
brilliant  dialogue ;  development  of  character  by 
conversation,  not  by  events,  in  the  absence  of  any 
story,  —  make  the  staple.  The  faculty  which  pre 
vails  in  these  plays  is  that  which  we  call  wit, 
especially  that  more  refined  order  of  wit  which 
appears  in  the  conversation  of  brilliant  women. 
"  Much  Ado  about  "Nothing,"  "  The  Two  Gentle- 


SHAKSPEARE.  325 

men  of  Verona,"  "  Twelfth  Night  "  are  dialogue 
plays  of  this  sort.  The  main  element  in  all  is  dia 
logue.  "  As  You  Like  It,"  "  The  Winter's  Tale," 
and  "  Love's  Labor  's  Lost  "  differ  from  these  only 
in  having  more  of  nature.  In  the  first,  the  out 
door  life  of  the  woods,  inhabited  by  dukes  and 
lords,  gives  a  picnic  tone  to  the  conversation.  In 
the  "  Winter's  Tale,"  a  more  rustic  arid  wilder 
rural  society  of  shepherds  and  clowns,  and  the  air 
of  the  hills,  cause  nature  to  predominate  over  man. 
But  in  each  of  these  pieces  the  ideal  power  mas 
ters  the  subject-matter;  and  we  may  say  of  each 
and  every  play,  as  Ovid  says  of  the  golden  palace 
of  the  gods  :  — 

"  Materiam  superabat  opus." 

To  each  there  is  one  tone,  one  spirit,  one  life. 
Some  of  the  plays  are  so  purely  poetical  as  to  be 
almost  lyrics,  as  "  Romeo  and  Juliet "  and  the 
"  Midsummer  Night's  Dream."  Some  are  satu 
rated  with  humor,  as  the  "  Merry  Wives  of  Wind 
sor,"  the  "  Comedy  of  Errors,"  and  u  Twelfth 
Night."  But  whether  the  element  of  the  piece  is 
comedy,  is  poetry,  is  philosophy,  is  fancy,  is  his 
tory,  is  outward  nature,  each  one  has  its  own  per 
vading  life,  is  a  unit,  is  a  whole,  because  of  the 
steady  mastery  of  that  grand  imaginative  faculty 
which  always  keeps  one  idea  supreme,  and  sub 
ordinates  to  that  all  details. 

This    creative,  unifying   power  of  imagination 
causes  Shakspeare's  characters  to  become  so  many 


326  SHAKSPEARE. 

real  human  beings  added  to  mankind.  We  refer 
to  them  as  illustrations  of  human  nature,  as  ex 
amples  of  human  conduct,  just  as  we  should  to 
real  beings.  In  one  sense  he  lias  created  another 
world,  and  peopled  it  with  another  race  of  men 
and  women.  Were  Shakspeare's  characters  oblit 
erated  we  should  lose  about  as  much  as  if  so 
many  of  Plutarch's  heroes  were  annihilated. 

It  is  not  so  with  the  creations  of  other  writers. 
Take  the  characters  of  Scott,  of  Schiller,  of  Goe 
the  :  they  are  not  quite  persons.  They  owe  some 
thing  to  costume,  to  circumstances.  Take  an  every 
day  man,  and  educate  him  in  the  Middle  Ages  as 
a  knight,  and  you  have  Ivanhoe  ;  take  the  same 
man,  and  let  him  be  brought  up  in  Scotland  in 
the  days  of  John  Knox,  and  you  have  Halbert 
Glendinning.  In  Goethe's  characters  you  get  a 
glimpse  of  Goethe  himself  ;  in  Scott's,  you  catch 
the  twinkle  of  the  sheriff's  eye.  "  Tasso  "  is  only 
Goethe  as  he  might  have  been  if  he  had  been  an 
Italian  in  his  Werther-period.  So  it  is  with  the 
dramatists  of  Shakspeare's  own  day.  Massinger's 
villains  only  pretend  to  be  villains :  the  nobleness 
of  Philip  Massinger  shines  out  of  their  gener 
ous  faces  presently.  Ben  Jonson's  dramatis  per- 
sonce  are  variations  of  that  sturdy,  hard-working, 
crabbed,  poetic,  prosaic,  ill-adjusted  great  man. 
But  each  one  of  Shakspeare's  men  and  women  is 
as  distinctly,  though  often  as  slightly,  individualized 
as  the  leaves  of  neighboring  trees,  —  almost  the 


SHAKSPEARE.  327 

same,  yet  forever  immutably  different.  Especially 
does  this  appear  in  his  women.  Read  Mrs.  Jame 
son's  work  on  his  female  characters,  and  notice 
how  each  of  the  lovely  creatures  is  her  own  sweet 
self,  though  like  enough  to  the  others  to  be  their 
sister :  — 

"  Fades  non  omnibus  una, 
Nee  diversa  tamen,  qualis  decet  esse  sororum." 

Thus  there  is  something  of  the  lay  figure  in  the 
work  of  other  authors,  even  the  greatest.  They 
are  built  up  from  without.  Take  away  what  is 
due  to  the  times,  to  their  situation,  to  their  edu 
cation,  and  to  certain  external  habits,  and  they 
lose  all  individuality.  But  Shakspeare's  grow 
from  within.  Shylock  is  not  merely  a  Jewish 
miser,  embittered  against  Christians  by  ill  usage : 
he  is,  first  of  all,  Shylock  himself.  Falstaff  is  not 
merely  a  glutton,  a  drunkard,  a  buffoon :  back  of 
all  these  habits  is  the  individual  man.  Othello 
is  not  a  picture  of  jealousy  only  ;  lago  of  cruel 
intellectual  malice  ;  they  are  persons  with  these 
habits  of  mind  and  states  of  feeling. 

And  consider  the  most  marvelous  of  them  all, 
—  Hamlet  ;  the  most  wonderful,  because  in  this 
the  artist  has  gone  wholly  out  of  his  own  age  and 
century,  and  come  down  to  ours.  Hamlet  belongs, 
not  to  the  sixteenth-century  period  of  vernal  and 
luxuriant  growth,  but  rather  to  an  epoch  in  which 
reflection  often  outweighs  action.  Hamlet  is  a 


328  SHAKSPEARE. 

man  sick  of  life  before  he  has  begun  to  live ;  to 
whom  "  all  the  uses  of  the  world  seem  stale,  flat, 
and  unprofitable  ;  "  "  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale 
cast  of  thought."  Overthought  has  paralyzed  the 
will-power  in  Hamlet.  He  is  in  a  condition  of 
moral  catalepsy  ;  seeing  and  knowing  everything, 
but  incapable  of  motion,  —  staying  in  any  position 
in  which  he  happens  to  be.  This  moral  torpor 
of  Hamlet  gives  its  gray  tone  to  the  whole  play. 
How  different  is  the  character  of  Macbeth  !  Here, 
Shakspeare,  instead  of  throwing  himself  forward 
three  centuries,  has  gone  back  five.  Macbeth  hes 
itates  over  his  deeds,  as  Hamlet  does,  but  not 
from  the  same  cause.  His  indecision  comes  from 
too  little  power  of  reflection,  not  from  too  much. 
Hamlet  is  like  a  man  dazzled  by  too  much  light ; 
Macbeth,  like  one  groping  in  the  dark.  A  wild, 
rude,  half  savage  stream  of  life  rushes  like  a 
mountain  torrent  through  one  play;  a  languid 
stream,  half  hidden  with  fogs,  creeps  through  the 
other. 

The  conclusion  to  which  we  are  brought  by 
these  studies  of  Shakspeare's  genius  is,  that  man 
is  really  what  the  ancients  called  him,  —  a  micro 
cosm,  a  little  world.  Though  it  is  evident  that 
the  powers  of  observation  in  our  poet  were  ex 
traordinary,  yet  observation  could  never  have  given 
him  this  knowledge  of  man  and  life.  The  soul 
of  man  has  unexplored  depths  of  latent  knowl 
edge,  which  the  imagination  uses  in  these  crea- 


SHAKSPEARE.  329 

tions.  Look  at  the  figures  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
hundreds  of  human  forms  in  every  position  and 
attitude,  of  human  faces  with  every  expression 
of  thought  and  feeling,  all  drawn  in  two  years  by 
Michael  Angelo.  Does  any  one  pretend  that  he 
had  observed  the  human  face  in  all  these  states ; 
that  he  had  noticed  the  human  figure  in  all  these 
attitudes  ;  and  so  only  copied  what  he  had  seen  ? 
No  ;  but  he,  the  Shakspeare  of  art,  created  new 
men  and  women  as  Nature  herself  would  have 
created  them.  He  did  not  remember  how  they 
had  been  ;  he  created  them  as  they  ought  to  be. 
And  so  Shakspeare  created  his  hundreds  of  per 
sons,  each  such  an  individual  soul  as  Nature  would 
herself  have  created,  if  she  had  reason  for  it ; 
not  by  putting  together  this  trait  and  that  which 
he  had  noticed  in  men  and  women,  but  out  of 
some  "  pattern  shown  him  in  the  mount,"  some 
instinctive  inborn  familiarity  with  Mother  Nature's 
original  types  and  methods. 

No  doubt  the  imagination,  in  its  full  activity, 
kindles  the  memory.  We  see  examples  of  this  in 
our  dreams,  where  this  creative  spirit  prepares  a 
stage,  scenery,  actors,  and  introduces  us  as  one  of 
the  persons  in  a  tragedy  or  comedy  in  which  we 
take  a  part,  without  knowing  beforehand  what 
the  denouement  is  to  be.  Awaking  from  such  a 
dream,  we  have  noticed  that  the  characters  in  it 
were  well  preserved  throughout,  and  that  it  had  a 
plot  of  its  own,  though  we  did  not  ourselves  know 


330  SHAKSPEARE. 

what  it  was  to  be ;  and  yet  we  had  arranged  it 
ourselves.  And  how  perfect  the  pictures  of  per 
sons  and  places,  how  exact  the  scenery,  which  our 
sleeping  memory  had  furnished  to  our  imagina 
tion  !  No  such  vivid  pictures  could  we  create 
by  any  effort  of  our  waking  memory.  Coleridge 
says  that  in  his  dream  every  man  is  a  Shak- 
speare.  At  all  events,  we  see  by  our  dreams 
something  of  the  nature  of  that  commanding  fac 
ulty,  in  its  unconscious  action,  which  in  Shak- 
speare  worked  consciously,  in  full  harmony  with 
all  the  other  powers  of  thought,  and  which  every 
other  power  of  that  kingly  intellect  served  with  a 
most  loyal  allegiance. 

Mr.  Emerson,  in  his  wise  and  charming  Essay 
on  Shakspeare,  qualifies  him.  as  "  THE  POET." 
Shakspeare  is,  emphatically,  THE  poet,  —  the  poet 
of  mankind,  —  poet  in  the  highest  sense,  combin 
ing  both  classic  and  romantic  definitions,  —  TTOC^TT/S, 
or  "maker;  "  Trovatore,  or  "  finder."  He  is  the 
great  MAKER,  the  master-artist,  who  forms  men 
and  women  of  the  clay.  He  is  also  the  Trou 
badour,  "  the  finder  ;  "  the  soul  to  which  every- 
thing'comes ;  who  discovers  as  well  as  forms.  In 
a  word,  he  is  both  purely  passive,  and  open  to 
the  universe  to  receive ;  wholly  active,  self-pos 
sessed,  and  diligent  to  use  what  he  sees.  He 
is,  therefore,  the  perfect  synthesis  of  the  classic 
and  the  romantic  school  ;  the  Persian  Gulf,  into 
which  these  twin  rivers  of  thought,  this  Tigris 


SHAKSPEARE.  331 

and  Euphrates,  running  so  long  side  by  side,  at 
last  mingle  their  waters  in  a  sweet  consent.  He 
disregarded  the  unities,  did  he  ?  —  therefore  was 
not  classic  ?  But  what  is  the  unity  of  all  unities 
in  art  but  the  bringing  into  harmony  the  wildest 
variety,  the  most  antagonistic  forms  ?  It  is  the 
unity  of  the  spirit,  not  of  the  letter.  The  nar 
row  and  limited  genius,  whether  in  poetry,  archi 
tecture,  or  painting,  seeks  unity  through  dilution 
and  emptiness.  Let  your  picture  contain  only  a 
single  figure ;  let  there  be  no  contrasts  of  color, 
no  accidental  lights,  no  long-reaching  perspectives, 
no  gradation  of  tints  ;  certainly  you  attain  a  sort 
of  unity  ;  notably  that  of  monotony.  So  in  archi 
tecture  :  you  may  have  a  symmetrical  unity  just  as 
monotonous,  —  three  windows  on  one  side,  and 
three  on  the  other  ;  but  who  does  not  prefer  the 
unity  born  of  infinite  variety  in  the  groupings  of 
a  Gothic  minster  or  the  spire  of  Strasburg  ?  The 
perfect  unity  of  each  Shakspearian  drama  is  that 
it  has  its  own  tone,  spirit,  life,  all  through,  amid 
its  wildest  freedom  and  extremest  contrasts  of  in 
cident  and  character. 

And,  in  that  other  charm  of  poetry  which  con 
sists  in  music  and  melody,  our  great  master  is 
still  unsurpassed.  We  have  had  other  exquisite 
lyrical  writers,  but  no  such  lyrics  as  his.  Who 
ever  has  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  Mrs.  Kem- 
ble  read  these  perfect  gems  of  song,  knows  that 
nothing  else  resembles  them.  There  is  no  such 
music,  no  such  language  :  — 


332  SHAKSPEARE. 

"  When  he  speaks, 
The  air,  a  chartered  libertine,  is  still, 
And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears 
To  steal  his  sweet  ana  honeyed  sentences." 

If  the  primal,  central  element  of  every  poem  is 
its  Idea,  which  gives  it  its  unity,  that  in  which  it 
ultimates  itself  is  the  Word.  Language  is  fluent 
with  Shakspeare.  Words  cease  to  have  any  arbi 
trary  or  conventional  character  ;  they  take  the 
meaning  he  chooses  to  give  them.  There  are  no 
phrases  in  his  writing  ;  no  conventionalisms ;  no 
words  obdurate  to  the  fiery  faculty  which  fuses 
them  all,  and  then  gives  them  new  forms  and 
uses.  It  may,  perhaps,  be  said,  that  all  his  lan 
guage  is  suggestive  and  figurative.  There  is  no 
mathematical  or  logical  use  of  words,  — 110  use 
which  allows  them  to  retain  a  definite  sense. 
Every  word  is  vital,  and  therefore  capable  of  a 
new  expression  in  every  new  position  which  it 
may  occupy.  This  alone  gives  the  absolute  mas 
tery  of  language  to  the  creative  faculty  ;  and  thus 
Shakspeare,  among  all  writers,  is  never  the  servant 
of  his  own  words. 

To  illustrate  my  meaning  here,  I  will  take  the 
first  example  that  comes  :  — 

"  There  are  a  kind  of  men  whose  visages 
Do  cream  and  mantle  like  the  standing  pool." 

The  rigid,  self-satisfied  stupidity  in  the  face  of 
the  pompous  blockhead  first  creams,  then  mantles. 
The  interior  self-complacency  comes  to  the  sur- 


SHAKSPEARE.  333 

face  in  a  standing  smile  like  cream.  But  it  is 
a  mantle  too.  It  does  not  express  thought ;  it 
merely  hides  the  absence  of  all  thought.  And 
then  it  is  "like  the  standing  pool,"  —  at  once  you 
see  the  green  surface  of  the  pool,  with  no  ripple, 
no  flow.  A  second-rate  genius,  having  hit  on  such 
a  simile,  would  have  spent  twenty  lines  in  elab 
orating  it.  Shakspeare  touches  it,  and  passes  on. 
He  gives  in  two  lines  three  distinct  pictures,  yet 
all  in  harmony,  and  each  carrying  farther  the 
thought  suggested  by  the  other.  Thus  words  be 
come  vital  in  his  treatment. 

When  we  speak  of  the  great  MORAL  influence 
of  Shakspeare,  we  do  not  intend  any  Puritanic, 
scholastic,  or  pedantic  morality.  We  do  not  mean 
morality  after  the  letter,  but  after  the  spirit.  We 
do  not  mean  that  his  plays  wind  up  with  a  moral, 
that  each  one  teaches  a  distinct  ethical  proposi 
tion,  or  that  they  are  constructed  on  the  plan 
sometimes  called  moral,  —  of  rewarding  the  good 
by  earthly  success,  and  punishing  the  wicked  with 
temporal  losses.  Shakspeare's  moral  influence  is 
of  a  far  higher  order  than  this.  It  lies  in  his  firm 
persuasion  that  this  world  is  God's  world  ;  that  all 
things,  therefore,  have  a  divine  and  sacred  mean 
ing  ;  that  nobleness  tends  upward,  and  sin  down 
ward.  That  influence  is  most  moral  which  most 
inspires  us  with  love  for  goodness  ;  which  makes 
faith,  integrity,  generosity,  purity,  seem  infinitely 
charming  and  lovely  ;  and  shows  sin,  however  sue- 


334  SHAKSPEARE. 

cessful  in  appearance,  to  be  a  miserable  failure. 
Whatever  makes  us  love  goodness,  and  hate  sin, 
is  most  moral ;  and  this  is  what  Shakspeare  always 
does. 

There  is  another  important  element  of  morality 
in  literature.  Goethe  says  that  the  only  kind  of 
moral  tale  is  that  which  shows  us  that,  beside  ap 
petite  and  passion,  there  is  a  power  within  us  able 
to  deny  and  control  them;  that  we  need  not  be 
conquered  by  our  lower  nature,  but  can  always  con 
quer  it.  Those  books  are  the  most  immoral  books, 
therefore,  which  (like  Balzac's  novels,  for  exam 
ple)  assume  that  it  is  a  matter  of  course  for  people 
to  go  wrong,  to  follow  usage,  to  yield  to  tempta 
tion.  A  man  who  tries  to  persuade  you  to  do 
wrong  is  not  so  much  of  a  Satan  as  the  man  who 
assumes,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  you  are  going 
to  do  wrong.  For  the  first  admits  that  there  is 
another  way,  by  trying  to  induce  you  to  go  his 
way :  by  urging  you  to  go  wrong,  he  admits  that 
there  are  motives  which  may  lead  you  to  go  right. 
But  the  most  dangerous,  subtle,  and  successful  of 
all  tempters  is  he  who  ignores  the  existence  of 
any  other  way  than  the  wrong  one  ;  or  who  treats 
wrong-doing  as  a  merry  joke,  that  it  would  be 
silly  and  ridiculous  to  consider  seriously.  Just 
so  Shylock  persuades  Antonio  to  consent  to  his 
frightful  proposition  by  treating  it  as  a  jest :  — 

"  Go  with  me  to  a  notary ;  seal  me  there 
Your  single  bond ;  and  in  a  merry  sport, 


SHAKSPEARE.  335 

If  you  repay  me  not  on  such  a  day, 

In  such  a  place,  such  sum  or  sums  as  are 

Expressed  in  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 

Be  nominated  for  an  equal  pound 

Of  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  off  and  taken 

In  what  part  of  your  body  pleaseth  me." 

Nothing  could  be  more  unnatural  than  for  An 
tonio  to  consent  to  such  a  proposal,  if  made  seri- 
ously,  —  nothing  more  likely  (if  put  in  the  off 
hand  way,  as  a  mere  joke,  —  to  be  consented  to, 
of  course)  than  for  him  to  say  as  he  does,  — 

"  Content,  in  faith :  I  '11  seal  to  such  a  bond, 
And  say,  There  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew/* 

Considered  in  this  light,  Shakspeare's  writings 
have  a  high  moral  influence.  He  never  makes 
evil  fascinating.  His  villains  are  often  sagacious, 
and  highly  intellectual,  like  lago ;  often  very  droll 
and  witty,  like  Falstaff :  but  they  are  never  made 
attractive ;  we  never  like  them,  nor  what  they  do. 
Did  ever  any  temperance  orator  hold  up  such  a 
picture  of  the  evils  of  a  debauched  life  as  we  have 
in  the  last  days  of  Sir  John  Falstaff,  driveling, 
silly,  fallen  from  the  society  of  princes  into  that  of 
Pistol,  Dame  Quickly,  and  Doll  Tearsheet  ?  The 
successful  ambition  of  Macbeth,  forcing  its  way  up 
to  the  royalty  of  Scotland,  might  seem,  if  wicked, 
yet  full  of  energy  and  courage.  But  Shakspeare 
withdraws  the  veil,  and  shows  us  how  weak, 
vacillating,  cowardly,  and  empty  is  such  ambition 
and  such  success.  Not  a  word  of  moralizing 


336  SHAKSPEARE. 

meantime :   he  shows  us  the  moral ;   he  does  not 
tell  us  of  it. 

So  the  substance  of  his  works  is  eminently 
moral ;  for  it  is  reality,  truth,  beauty,  love.  If 
these  are  moral,  he  is  so. 

"  Fair,  kind,  and  true  is  all  my  argument,  — 
Fair,  kind,  and  true,  varying  to  other  words; 
And  in  this  change  is  my  invention  spent,  — 
Three  themes  in  one,  which  wondrous  scope  affords." 

Perhaps  the  one  feature  of  Shakspeare  which 
gives  most  purity  to  his  works  is  his  real  respect 
for  woman.  He  had  seen  bad  women  ;  there  is 
reason  to  think  that  he  was  not  happy  in  his  own 
marriage ;  some  of  his  sonnets  are  addressed  to  a 
woman,  whose  thousand  errors  he  notes,  but  says 
that  his  five  senses,  seeing  those  errors,  cannot 
"dissuade  his  one  foolish  heart  from  serving  her." 
Yet  whoever  knows  the  corrupt,  cynical  tone  in 
which  woman  and  love  were  spoken  of  by  Shak- 
speare's  predecessors  and  successors,  must  wonder 
at  his  perception  of  woman's  purity,  truth,  and 
nobleness.  He  could  paint  wicked  women,  like 
Lady  Macbeth ;  frail  women,  like  Cressida ;  unpo- 
etic  women,  like  Mrs.  Page  and  Mrs.  Ford  ;  vulgar 
women,  like  Dame  Quickly ;  and  a  fine  lady,  like 
Beatrice.  But  he  most  loved  to  draw,  with  deli 
cate  pencil  dipped  in  celestial  tints,  characters  of 
the  snowy  purity  of  Imogen,  the  saintly  grace  of 
Isabella,  the  brilliant  intelligence  of  Portia,  the 
poetic  soul  of  Miranda,  the  devoted  tenderness  of 


SHAKSPEARE.  337 

Desdemona.  Never  was  such  an  offering  of  rever 
ence  laid  at  the  feet  of  woman  as  Shakspeare  has 
presented  in  characters  like  these.  And,  to  com 
plete  the  expression  of  his  admiration  and  homage, 
he  has  selected  his  most  satanic  creation,  —  the 
one  who  neither  believed  in  God  nor  man,  —  and 
put  into  his  mouth  that  kind  of  contempt  toward 
the  whole  sex  which  folly  and  wickedness  have  in 
every  age  hastened  to  utter,  thereby  pronouncing 
their  own  condemnation.  It  is  lago,  the  bitter 
cynic,  the  man  who  has  no  faith  in  virtue  ;  the 
cold  materialist ;  the  man  to  whom  a  ruined  char 
acter  seems  a  less  evil  than  a  broken  head,  —  this 
is  the  one  whom  Shakspeare  has  selected  to  utter 
the  stock  satires,  the  regulation  witticisms,  against 
woman ;  and  he  could  not  show  his  reverence  for 
woman  more  than  by  thus  making  lago  her  li- 
beler.  Therefore,  if  the  happiness  and  virtue  of 
the  world,  and  the  progress  of  society,  depend,  as 
they  do,  on  the  position  which  woman  occupies, 
and  the  esteem  in  which  she  is  held,  Shakspeare 's 
influence  may  be  considered  as  one  of  the  motors 
in  Christian  civilization. 

This  being  his  view  of  woman,  his  idea  of  love 
is  high  and  noble.  Coleridge  says,  "  There  is  not 
a  vicious  passage  in  Shakspeare,  though  many  gross 
ones,  for  grossness  belongs  to  the  age ; "  the  age  of 
such  writers  as  Beaumont  and  Fletcher ;  and  after 
ward  of  Dry  den. 

Shakspeare's  drama,  amid  such  associates,  was 
22 


338  SHAKSPEARE. 

like  the  Lady  in  "  Comus  "  among  the  obscene  and 
riotous  company  around  her.  The  love  he  de 
scribed  was  of  the  soul.  The  reasons  his  heroes 
give  for  loving  are  such  as  these :  — 

"  For  she  is  wise,  if  I  can  judge  of  her  ; 
And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true; 
And  true  she  is,  as  she  hath  proved  herself : 
And  therefore  like  herself,  wise,  fair,  and  true, 
Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul." 

The  lower  fascination  of  love  he  describes  thus, 
in  lines  which  do  not  contain  one  feeling  which  is 
not  spiritual  and  refined  :  — 

"  Except  I  be  by  Silvia  in  the  night, 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nightingale  ; 
Unless  I  look  on  Silvia  in  the  day, 
There  is  no  day  for  me  to  look  upon. 
She  is  my  essence ;  and  I  leave  to  be 
If  I  be  not  by  her  fair  influence 
Fostered,  illumined,  cherished,  kept  alive-" 

And  how  noble  is  Portia's  confession  of  her  af 
fection  for  Bassanio,  and  the  pure  womanly  sur 
render  of  herself,  her 'possessions,  her  high  posi 
tion,  as  the  princely  heiress  of  Belmont !  Mrs. 
Jameson,  quoting  the  passage,  says  it  has  a  con 
sciousness  and  tender  seriousness  approaching  to 
solemnity :  — 

"  You  see  me,  Lord  Bassanio,  where  I  stand, 
Such  as  I  am.     But  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  an  unlessoned  girl,  unschooled,  unpracticed ; 
Happy  in  this,  —  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn ;  and  happier  than  this, 


SHAKSPEARE.  339 

She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  may  learn ; 
Happiest  of  all  is,  that  her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours,  to  be  directed 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king." 

But  that  for  which,  most  of  all,  we  remember 
Shakspeare's  birth  with  gratitude  to-day  is  his 
wisdom.  He  saw  the  laws  which  govern  the 
world.  "  He  is  inconceivably  wise,"  says  Mr. 
Emerson;  " the  others  conceivably."  The  follow, 
ing  passage  in  Ben  Jonson's  "  Poetaster  "  seems 
to  me  to  describe  Shakspeare,  though  professing 
to  refer  to  Virgil :  — 

"  That  which  he  hath  writ 
Is  with  such  judgment  labored  and  distilled 
Through  all  the  needful  uses  of  our  lives, 
That,  could  a  man  remember  but  his  lines, 
He  should  not  touch  at  any  serious  point 
But  he  might  breathe  his  spirit  out  of  him." 

And  again,  — 

"  And  for  his  poesy,  't  is  so  rammed  with  life, 
That  it  shall  gather  strength  of  life  with  being, 
And  live  hereafter  more  admired  than  now." 

His  wisdom  is  for  all  times.  He  possessed 
knowledge  of  man,  in  each  of  its  three  forms, 
more  than  any  other  writer.  He  knew  human 
nature,  or  the  common  soul  with  its  depths  and 
heights,  —  those  universal  principles  the  same  in 
all.  Then  he  knew  man  as  an  individual,  —  not 
the  same,  but  various  ;  each  one  himself,  no  one 
like  another.  And,  thirdly,  he  knew  mankind,  — 


340  SHAKSPEARE. 

man  in  action,  the  social  man ;  that  is,  he  knew 
man  in  repose,  man  in  personal  development,  and 
man  in  society. 

This  last  knowledge  is  what  we  name  Wisdom, 
as  the  first  is  Philosophy,  and  the  second  is  Dra 
matic  Genius.  The  wisdom  of  life,  the  same  in  all 
ages ;  the  proverbial  wisdom  of  Solomon,  of  Saadi, 
of  ^Esop,  of  Dr.  Franklin ;  the  sayings  which  guide 
men  in  all  affairs  great  and  small,  —  this  is  what 
makes  him  our  teacher,  the  common  teacher  of  all 
thinking  men  in  all  ages.  England  and  America 
especially,  whose  tongue  he  speaks,  have  both  been 
taught  by  him.  Perhaps  they  never  needed  his 
teachings  more  than  now. 

Three  hundred  years  have  passed  since  Shak- 
speare  was  born;  and  he  is  still  the  educator  of  the 
English,  German,  and  American  intellect.  His 
works  are  the  university  where  the  teachers  of  our 
land  are  themselves  taught.  The  great  inventions 
which  have  come  since  his  time,  and  have  revolu 
tionized  England  and  America,  are  of  trivial  im 
portance  compared  with  his  thought  and  speech. 
Coleridge  says  of  him,  "  I  have  been  almost  daily 
reading  him  since  I  was  ten  years  old.  The  thirty 
intervening  years  have  been  unintermittingly  and 
not  fruitlessly  employed  in  the  study  of  the  Greek, 
Latin,  English,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  German 
belle s-lettrists ;  and  the  last  fifteen  years,  in  addi 
tion,  far  more  intensely  in  the  analysis  of  the  laws 
of  life  and  reason  as  they  exist  in  man :  and  upon 


SHAKSPEARE.  341 

every  step  I  have  made  forward  in  taste,  in  acqui 
sition  of  facts  from  history  or  my  own  observation, 
and  in  knowledge  of  the  different  laws  of  being, 
and  their  apparent  exceptions  from  accidental  col 
lision  of  disturbing  forces,  —  at  every  new  acces 
sion  of  information,  after  every  successful  exercise 
of  meditation  and  every  fresh  presentation  of  ex 
perience,  I  have  unfailingly  discovered  a  propor 
tionate  increase  of  wisdom  and  intuition  in  Shak- 
speare." 

And  Mr.  Emerson,  whose  essay  resumes  in 
itself  most  of  our  best  thoughts  concerning  this 
great  master,  says :  "  He  wrote  the  airs  for  all  our 
modern  music ;  he  wrote  the  text  of  modern  life,  — 
the  text  of  manners ;  he  drew  the  man  of  England 
and  Europe  ;  the  father  of  the  man  in  America ; 
he  read  the  hearts  of  men  and  women,  their  prob 
ity  and  second  thought  and  wiles,  —  the  wile's  of 
innocence,  and  the  transitions  by  which  virtues 
and  vices  slide  into  their  contraries ;  he  drew  the 
fine  demarcations  of  freedom  and  fate ;  he  knew 
the  laws  of  repression  which  make  the  police  of 
nature  ;  and  all  the  sweets  and  terrors  of  human 
lot  lay  in  his  mind  as  truly,  but  as  softly,  as  the 
landscape  lies  in  the  eye." 


XVII. 
JEAN   JACQUES  EOUSSEAU. 


JEAN  JACQUES   ROUSSEAU.1 


THIS  book,  published  some  years  since,  contains 
interesting  matter  for  any  new  biography  of  the 
great,  sad,  prose-poet  of  France.  It  contains  rem 
iniscences  concerning  him  from  simple,  honest, 
Christian  men,  —  his  fellow-townsmen,  who  knew 
him  well.  They  do  not  think  of  him  as  the 
great  philosopher  and  marvelous  writer,  who  set 
the  French  language  on  fire,  and  turned  its  cold 
phrases  into  burning  eloquence.  They  think  of 
him  only  as  one  whom  they  could  not  quite  un 
derstand,  or  quite  approve  ;  but  whom  they  could 
not  help  loving.  It  has  also  contributions  from 
many  citizens  of  Geneva  and  the  neighboring 
towns,  and  shows  us  Rousseau  as  he  was,  when 
his  unquiet  heart  and  sensitive  nature  found  peace 
for  a  time  among  his  simple  fellow-citizens.  The 
period,  perhaps,  has  hardly  yet  arrived  for  writing 
the  biography  of  this  great  soul ;  but,  when  it 
comes,  this  unpretending  volume  will  be  one  of  its 

1  Article    in  The  Christian   Examiner,  on    "Rousseau   et   les 
Ge'nevois.     Par  M.  J.  Gaberel,  ancien  pasteur." 


346  JEAN  JACQUES  KOUSSEAU. 

"  Memoires  pour  servir."  It  informs  us,  too,  that 
there  is  a  collection  of  nearly  two  thousand  in- 
edited  letters  of  Rousseau  in  the  Library  of  Neuf- 
chatel,  classified  by  the  librarian,  M.  Bovet.  It 
also  mentions  that  M.  le  docteur  Coindet,  grand- 
nephew  of  Rousseau's  friend  of  that  name,  has 
a  voluminous  collection  of  notes  and  letters  ad 
dressed  to  his  uncle  by  the  philosopher.  It  con 
tains  many  interesting  anecdotes,  all  tending  to 
show  that,  in  the  opinion  of  these  good  men,  who 
knew  Rousseau  in  his  private  life,  he  was  a  relig 
ious  man  ;  a  truth-seeking,  truth-loving  man ;  and 
one  who  desired  human  love  rather  than  fame. 

Perhaps  the  present  century  may  be  able  to  do 
justice  to  Rousseau.  I  have  long  desired  to  utter 
a  protest  against  the  wide-spread  opinion,  held 
by  the  Christian  public,  of  his  infidelity  in  opin 
ion  and  his  immorality  of  character.  The  com 
mon  view  of  Rousseau  is  unjust  to  his  belief  and 
his  life.  Unfortunate  and  unhappy  in  a  thousand 
ways,  he  is  not  that  ogre  of  evil  which  his  name 
represents  to  so  many  minds. 

Rousseau  was  a  phenomenon,  unintelligible  to 
his  own  time,  and  not  yet  understood  by  ours.  To 
his  contemporaries  he  was  the  object  of  immense 
admiration  and  odium  ;  and  to  our  age  he  stands 
as  a  misty  representative  of  sophistry  and  un 
belief.  He  is  classed  with  Hume  and  Voltaire, 
though  radically  opposed  to  them  in  his  ideas, 
and  antipathic  in  the  tendencies  of  his  nature. 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  347 

When  his  works  first  appeared  they  electrified 
France  and  Europe.  Hume  writes  from  Paris  in 
1765  :  "  It  is  impossible  to  express  or  imagine  the 
enthusiasm  of  this  nation  in  his  favor  ;  no  person 
ever  so  much  engaged  their  attention  as  Rous 
seau.  Voltaire  and  everybody  else  are  quite 
eclipsed  by  him."  When  "  La  Nouvelle  Helo'ise  " 
appeared,  the  libraries  could  not  answer  the  calls 
made  for  it  from  all  classes.  The  book  was  let 
by  the  day  and  by  the  hour.  But  this  universal 
admiration  was  attended  or  immediately  followed 
by  a  terrible  persecution.  Banished  from  Paris 
for  the  publication  of  "  Emile,"  a  work  which 
contains  the  germs  of  our  modern  improvements  in 
education,  he  went  to  Geneva  ;  threatened  with 
imprisonment  there,  he  fled  to  Neufchatel ;  driven 
from  that  place,  he  lived  on  an  island  in  the  Lake 
of  Bienne,  from  which  he  was  again  expelled  by 
the  Canton  of  Berne.  Longing  for  repose,  he 
was  a  perpetual  wanderer ;  thirsting  for  sympa 
thy,  he  was  in  constant  warfare.  The  one  literary 
man  of  his  time  and  land  who  was  sincerely  re 
ligious,  he  passed  then,  and  has  passed  ever  since, 
as  an  example  of  unbelief.  A  singular  character, 
certainly,  and  well  deserving  of  our  study.  Lord 
Holland  tells  us  that  Napoleon  said  of  Rousseau, 
that  "without  him  there  would  have  been  no 
French  Revolution."  The  historian  Schlosser 
speaks  of  his  "  bringing  forward  an  entirely  new 
system  of  absolute  democracy."  Von  Raumer,  in 


348  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

his  history  of  education,  gives  Rousseau  a  high 
place  as  the  founder  and  inspirer  of  this  modern 
science.  Sismondi  says,  u  Rousseau  in  his  writ 
ings  went  to  the  foundations  of  human  society." 
Buckle  remarks  that  he  has  not  found  a  single  in 
stance  of  an  attack  on  Christianity  in  all  Rous 
seau's  writings ;  and  that  in  this  respect  he  was 
entirely  distinguished  from  the  other  writers  of  his 
day.  Louis  Blanc  declares  that  Rousseau  alone 
withstood  the  movement  headed  by  Voltaire  and 
all  the  philosophers,  resisting  by  himself  the  whole 
spirit  of  his  time.  "  The  age  exalted  reason  ;  he 
preached  sentiment.  Among  the  prophets  of  indi 
vidualism  he  alone  taught  the  Christian  doctrine 
of  brotherhood.  The  mission  of  Jean  Jacques, 
in  a  society  which  was  in  a  state  of  disintegra 
tion,  was  to  oppose  to  the  exaggerated  worship 
of  reason  the  worship  of  sentiment."  M.  Ville- 
main,  one  of  the  foremost  among  the  historians  of 
French  literature,  considers  him  "  the  successor  of 
Montesquieu  in  political  science,"  "  the  sincere 
friend  of  morality  and  justice,"  "  magical  in  his 
talent,"  "  with  a  soul  of  fire ; "  and  agrees  with 
those  who  ascribe  to  his  genius  an  immense  influ 
ence  over  the  future.  He  was,  says  he,  "  the 
Bible  of  his  time  ;  and  there  was  not  an  act  in 
the  French  Revolution  in  which  you  do  not  find 
his  good  or  evil  influence."  But,  as  regards  re 
ligion,  Villemain  declares  that,  "  at  a  period  when 
the  old  religious  beliefs  had  faded  away  from  the 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  349 

public  mind,  no  better  and  no  more  useful  book 
than  '  Emile '  could  have  been  offered  to  it." 
Rousseau,  he  adds,  "  was  the  religious  teacher  of 
his  age,  inspiring  a  faith  in  God,  in  the  soul,  in 
goodness  here  and  immortality  hereafter,  which 
was  not  taught  then,  even  in  the  Christian  pul 
pits.  For  the  Catholic  pulpit  of  France  then 
preached  mere  moral  discourses  on  '  Affability,' 
on  c  Equanimity  of  Temper,'  or  '  The  Love  of 
Order  ; '  and  sought  to  be  pardoned  its  sacred 
mission  by  affecting  a  kind  of  judicious  worldli- 
ness."  The  school  of  sensation  ruled  in  philoso 
phy  ;  and  to  the  school  of  sensation  Rousseau  ut 
tered  these  words  :  "  Judgment  and  sensation  are 
not  the  same  thing  :  I  am  not  merely  a  sensitive 
and  passive  being,  but  also  an  active  and  intelligent 
being ;  and,  whatever  philosophy  may  say  about 
it,  I  shall  venture  to  claim  the  honor  of  being  able 
to  think."  In  reply  to  Diderot,  D'Holbach,  and 
Helvetius,  and  to  the  Atheism  which  they  taught, 
he  inferred  an  intelligent  supreme  being  from  the 
very  existence  of  matter.  To  the  Encyclopaedists 
he  replies  :  "  Philosophy  can  do  nothing  which  re 
ligion  cannot  do  better  than  she  ;  and  religion  can 
do  a  great  many  other  things  which  philosophy 
cannot  do  at  all." 

These  facts  indicate,  that  down  to  the  pres 
ent  time  Rousseau  has  not  been  generally  under 
stood,  and  that  he  deserves  a  further  and  more 
impartial  study. 


350  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  was  born  at  Geneva  in 
1712,  and  died  near  Paris  in  1778,  at  the  age  of 
66.  He  was  a  contemporary,  during  most  of  his 
life,  with  Swedenborg,  Kant,  Voltaire,  John  Wes 
ley,  Benjamin  Franklin,  Linnseus,  Dr.  Johnson, 
Hume,  and  Burke.  How  different  were  these 
men  from  each  other  !  how  hard  for  them  to  un 
derstand  each  other  !  How  hard  for  the  practical 
Benjamin  Franklin,  the  tory  Samuel  Johnson,  the 
pious  Wesley,  the  philosophic  Kant,  or  the  mysti 
cal  Swedenborg,  to  find  any  meaning  in  such  a 
man  as  Rousseau  !  But  posterity,  looking  back 
ward,  can  recognize  the  good  which  all  have  done 
by  their  different  methods.  "  There  are  so  many 
voices  in  the  world,  and  none  without  its  own 
signification." 

The  family  of  Rousseau  was  French  ;  and  though 
he  was  fond  of  calling  himself  a  citizen  of  Geneva, 
he  belonged  altogether  in  his  soul,  as  in  litera 
ture,  to  France.  His  ancestors  were  Huguenots, 
who  had  gone  to  Switzerland  to  secure  liberty  of 
conscience.  His  father  was  a  watchmaker.  His 
mother  died  when  he  was  born  ;  and  he  never 
knew  a  mother's  care.  He  was  a  sickly  child ; 
and  his  father,  to  amuse  him,  would  sit  up  all 
night  reading  novels  to  him.  But  when  he  was 
ten  years  old  he  lost  his  father  also,  who  went  into 
exile  in  consequence  of  fighting  a  duel,  and  aban 
doned  his  child  to  the  care  of  his  uncle,  who  placed 
him  at  school  in  the  town  of  Bossey.  At  twelve 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  351 

years  he  was  put  as  an  apprentice  with  an  en 
graver,  who  was  a  harsh  employer ;  and  when 
Rousseau  was  sixteen  he  ran  away  and  took  ref 
uge  with  a  Catholic  curate  in  Savoy,  who,  instead 
of  sending  him  back  to  his  family,  preferred  to 
keep  him,  that  he  might  convert  him  to  the  Cath 
olic  Church.  For  this  purpose  he  sent  him  to  live 
with  Madame  Warens,  a  lady  who  figures  largely 
in  his  memoirs.  She  was  a  recent  convert  to  the 
Catholic  Church.  She  had  deserted  her  husband, 
with  whom  she  did  not  live  happily.  Protected 
by  the  King  of  Sardinia,  and  living  on  a  small 
pension  ;  a  pretty  woman,  kind-hearted,  but  with 
out  principle,  —  she  persuaded  Rousseau  to  abjure 
Protestantism,  which  he  did  in  the  city  of  Turin 
in  1728.  Here,  as  before,  the  boy  was  left  with 
out  friends  or  protectors.  He  lived  at  service,  and 
received  good  advice  from  a  deistical  abbe,  who 
taught  him  at  the  same  time  morality  and  deism. 
From  Turin  he  returned  to  Madame  Warens,  who 
was  still  living  at  Annecy.  He  studied  music  and 
gave  music  lessons,  by  which  he  gained  a  partial 
support.  After  some  wanderings  and  changes  of 
fortune,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  he  received  an 
office  from  the  King  of  Sardinia,  through  the  in 
fluence  of  his  old  friend,  Madame  Warens.  In 
1736  he  went  to  live  with  her  at  Charmettes,  in 
the  country,  where  he  passed  some  happy  years  in 
work,  in  study,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  nature. 
In  1741,  at  the  age  of  twenty-nine,  Rousseau 


352  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

went  to  Paris  in  order  to  exhibit  a  new  method  of 
musical  notation.  He  carried  in  his  pocket  fifteen 
pieces  of  silver  and  his  comedy  of  "  Narcissus." 
His  musical  notation  did  not  succeed ;  but  he  ob 
tained  introductions  to  different  persons  of  distinc 
tion,  and  through  one  of  them  received  the  office 
of  Secretary  of  Legation  to  the  French  embassy  at 
Venice,  where  he  distinguished  himself  by  his  fidel 
ity  and  energy.  Returning  to  Paris,  he  became 
acquainted  with  The*rese  le  Vasseur.  She  was  a 
laundress,  three  and  twenty  years  old,  ignorant, 
and  incapable  of  being  educated.  She  never  could 
learn  the  names  of  the  months,  nor  how  to  count. 
But  she  was  lively,  gentle,  and  kind.  With  her 
Rousseau  lived  many  years,  and  finally  married 
her.  His  father  dying  about  this  time,  Rousseau 
secured  his  share  of  his  mother's  inheritance,  the 
life  interest  of  which  he  had  allowed  his  father 
to  enjoy.  But  all  his  means  were  wanted  to  help 
his  friend,  Madame  Warens,  who  had  become 
poor,  and  the  relations  of  The*r£se,  who  were  very 
greedy. 

In  1750,  when  thirty-eight  years  old,  he  wrote 
the  work  which  introduced  him  to  the  public, 
which  was  a  short  treatise  for  a  prize  proposed  by 
the  Academy  of  Dijon,  on  the  question  whether 
the  revival  of  learning  has  contributed  to  the  im 
provement  of  morals.  He  took  the  negative  side, 
and  here  began  the  career  of  thought  which  gave 
him  ail  his  distinction.  His  doctrine  was  that 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  353 

man  was  only  good  and  only  happy  while  follow 
ing  nature,  and  that  the  arts  and  sciences  are  the 
children  of  a  corrupt  civilization.  His  treatise 
received  the  prize.  It  was  followed  by  a  success 
ful  opera,  a  letter  on  French  music,  and,  in  1753, 
a  Treatise  on  the  Origin  of  Inequality  among 
Mankind.  In  this  he  carried  still  farther  his  fa 
vorite  doctrine  of  the  fall  of  man  through  civiliza 
tion. 

He  had  before  him  the  terrible  inequalities 
which  then  existed  in  France.  He  wished  to  at 
tack  despotism,  and  he  attacked  all  society.  He 
desired  to  assail  the  enormous  distinctions  of 
property,  and  he  assailed  property  itself. 

"  The  first  man,"  said  he,  "  who,  having  inclosed  a 
piece  of  ground,  said,  '  It  belongs  to  me/  and  found  peo 
ple  simple  enough  to  believe  him,  was  the  true  founder 
of  civil  society.  How  many  crimes,  wars,  and  murders 
would  not  he  have  spared  to  the  human  race  who  should 
have  plucked  up  the  fence,  and  said  to  his  companions, 
'  Beware  of  listening  to  this  impostor :  you  are  lost  if 
you  forget  that  the  fruits  of  the  earth  belong  to  every 
body,  and  that  the  earth  itself  belongs  to  nobody.'  " 

This  treatise  produced  great  excitement,  and  of 
course  much  opposition  as  well  as  admiration. 
Voltaire,  thanking  Rousseau  for  his  work,  wrote 
to  him,  "  One  feels  a  desire  to  go  on  all  fours 
while  reading  your  essay."  Buffon  made  some 
serious  objections,  founded  on  the  physical  nature 


354  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

of  man,  which  demanded  society  to  protect  the 
feeble  age  of  childhood. 

From  this  time  it  was  evident  that  there  was  a 
breach  between  .  Rousseau  and  the  French  philoso 
phers  Diderot,  Grimm,  and  Holbach.  His  ideas 
and  theirs  were  radically  opposed.  He  believed 
in  God,  in  Immortality,  and  Retribution :  they  be 
lieved  in  this  present  world  and  the  five  senses. 
He  believed  in  the  brotherhood  of  man :  they  be 
lieved  in  every  one  for  himself.  He  was  the 
champion  of  Equality  :  they  were  the  friends  and 
proteges  of  the  Aristocrats.  They  looked  down 
upon  him  with  an  air  of  patronage  and  of  con 
temptuous  superiority.  The  blame  for  these  diffi 
culties  long  rested  on  Rousseau,  and  was  attributed 
to  his  morbid  jealousy.  But  M.  Villemain  says 
that  now,  when  so  many  correspondences  have 
been  published,  we  must  confess  that  these  friends 
of  Rousseau  were  very  hard  upon  him. 

In  1754  Rousseau  took  possession  of  a  cottage 
at  Montmorency,  about  four  miles  from  Paris, 
called  the  Hermitage.  It  was  a  present  from 
Mme.  d'Epinay,  who  owned  the  estate.  Walking 
with  her  one  day  in  this  pleasant  valley,  he  cried 
out,  "  What  an  asylum  for  me  !  "  She  made  no 
reply,  but  rebuilt  the  house,  and  the  next  time 
they  visited  the  place  playfully  said,  "  My  bear, 
behold  your  asylum !  "  In  this  happy  retirement 
he  wrote  the  "  Nouvelle  Helo'iso  "  and  most  of  the 
"Emile."  What  an  active  employment  of  his 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  855 

time  during  the  six  years  which  he  passed  here 
and  at  the  village  of  Montmorency  afterward ! 
For,  beside  the  "IMoise"  and  "Emile,"  he  wrote 
the  letter  to  D'Alembert  and  the  "  Social  Con 
tract  ; "  and,  when  driven  from  his  asylum,  during 
his  flight,  "  The  Levite  of  Ephraim."  It  was  the 
most  fruitful  period  of  his  life,  —  the  happy  au 
tumn  in  which  the  long,  cold  spring-time  of  his 
struggling  youth  and  the  passionate  heats  of  his 
summer  bore  the  rich  fruits  of  thought  and  labor. 
It  was  his  only  really  happy  time,  —  the  little  in 
terval  of  sunshine  in  the  midst  of  a  stormy  day. 
The  rest  of  his  years  —  persecuted  at  once  by  Cath 
olic  and  Protestant  bigots  and  by  philosophical  un 
believers  ;  driven  in  exile  from  France  into  Switz 
erland,  from  Switzerland  into  Prussia,  and  from 
Prussia  into  England  ;  half  crazy  with  suspicion 
and  jealousy;  the  object  at  the  same  moment  of 
fanatical  hatred,  extravagant  admiration,  and  bit 
ter  ridicule — he  never  knew  a  quiet  hour  till  he 
dropped  exhausted  into  his  grave.  And,  as  if  the 
same  fate  which  pursued  him  in  life  was  to  follow 
him  into  his  tomb,  he  was  not  allowed  to  sleep 
peacefully  on  the  island  in  the  little  lake,  shaded 
with  poplars,  but  was  carried,  in  1791,  with  Vol 
taire,  to  the  Pantheon,  and  placed  in  a  kind  of 
stone  cellar  below  the  church,  in  a  wooden  sar 
cophagus,  en  attendant  something  better. 

What,  then,  was  the  religious  belief  or  unbelief 
of  Rousseau  ? 


356  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

First :  in  an  age  in  which  atheism  was  the  fash 
ion  he  believed  firmly  in  God. 

For,  in  the  period  preceding  the  French  Revo 
lution,  philosophy  in  France  had  sunk  into  the 
grossest  materialism.  De  la  Mettrie  gave  himself 
all  possible  trouble  to  deny  to  man  a  soul  and  im 
mortality,  and  to  prove  him  an  automaton,  or  at 
most  a  vegetable.  He  was  a  decided  materialist 
and  atheist.  He  wrote  one  book  called  "  The 
Man-Machine ;  "  and  another  called  "  The  Man- 
Plant."  Him  followed  Denis  Diderot  and  Jean 
d'Alembert,  hating  not  only  Christianity  but  all 
religion,  —  philosophers  of  matter,  believers  in 
sensation  alone,  preaching  the  gospel  of  the  five 
senses.  They  were  the  chief  editors  of  the  "French 
Encyclopaedia,"  the  object  of  which  was  to  revo 
lutionize  all  belief  on  the  basis  of  atheism.  To 
them  associated  himself  Baron  d'Holbach,  author 
of  " The  System  of  Nature; "  and  Helvetius,  writer 
of  two  shallow  books  on  "  Man  "  and  "  The  Mind." 
Of  all  this  party  only  Voltaire  was  a  theist.  Vol 
taire  was  by  no  means  an  atheist.  On  the  con 
trary,  he  wrote  a  story  called  "  Cosi-Sancta," 
containing  one  of  the  best  arguments  from  the 
evidences  of  design  in  nature  for  the  existence  of 
Deity.  But  Voltaire's  theism  was  purely  intel 
lectual,  and  not,  like  Rousseau's,  a  sentiment,  a 
feeling,  a  love.  Rousseau  believed  in  God  with 
his  whole  heart :  not  merely  as  a  law  or  an  order 
of  the  universe ;  but  as  a  personal  God  and  friend 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  357 

to  the  human  race,  especially  to  the  poor  and 
wretched.  The  philosophers  pardoned  Voltaire 
his  theism,  for  it  was  a  mere  speculation ;  but 
they  could  never  forgive  Rousseau,  for  his  was 
faith  —  and  faith  in  a  living  God. 

Take,  as  one  proof  of  this,  not  any  single  pas 
sage  from  his  own  writings  which  might  be  sus 
pected  of  not  giving  his  average  belief,  but  an 
account  given  by  his  friend  and  protector,  Mine. 
d'Epinay,  of  a  conversation  in  which  he  took  part 
in  her  house.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this 
expresses  his  real  conviction,  since  he  could  not 
have  thought  that  it  would  ever  be  preserved.  It 
was  the  overflow  of  his  mind  at  the  hour.  Rous 
seau  here  maintains,  in  private  and  in  difficult 
circumstances,  the  same  positive  religious  convic 
tions  which  he  always  announces  in  his  works :  — 

"Mile.  Quinault  said  that  in  religious  matters  every 
one  was  right;  but  that  each  should  remain  in  the  relig 
ion  in  which  he  was  born. 

" '  Not  so,'  replied  Rousseau,  warmly ;  '  not  if  it  is  a 
bad  religion,  for  then  it  could  only  do  one  harm.' 

"  I  then  said  that  religion  often  did  much  good ;  that 
it  was  a  restraint  for  the  lower  classes,  who  had  no  other. 
Every  one  cried  out  against  me,  and  overwhelmed  me 
with  objections  ;  they  said  that  for  the  lower  classes  the 
fear  of  being  hung  was  a  much  better  restraint  than  the 
fear  of  being  damned.  So  they  went  on,  till  I,  fearing 
they  would  destroy  all  religion,  begged  for  mercy,  at 
least,  for  natural  religion.  '  Not  more  for  that  than  for 


358  JEAN  j AC  CLUES  ROUSSEAU. 

the  rest,'  said  St.  Lambert.  Rousseau  said,  '  I  don't  go 
with  you.  I  say  with  Horace,  "  I  am  more  infirm." ' 

"  Then  St.  Lambert  and  others  attacked  with  bitter 
ness  all  belief,  even  in  God.  Rousseau  muttered  some 
thing  between  his  teeth :  they  laughed  at  him. 

ROUSSEAU.  '"If  it  is  a  baseness  to  hear  one's  friend 
abused  in  his  absence,  I  consider  it  a  crime  to  listen  to 
things  said  against  one's  God,  who  is  here.  For  myself, 
gentlemen,  I  believe  in  God.' 

"  They  went  on,  however,  in  the  same  way,  till  Rous 
seau  said,  '  If  you  say  another  word  of  this  sort  I  shall 
retire.' 

"  Afterward,  being  seated  near  Rousseau,  I  said,  *  It 
troubles  me  that  St.  Lambert,  so  intelligent  a  man, 
should  not  believe  in  God.'  '  I  cannot  bear,'  answered 
Rousseau,  *  this  rage  for  pulling  down  everything,  and 
never  building  up  anything.'  'Still,'  said  I, 'his  argu 
ments  are  very  strong.'  '  What !  are  you  going  to  be 
convinced  by  his  atheism  ?  Don't  say  that,  madame ; 
for  I  could  not  help  hating  you.  Besides,  the  idea  of 
God  is  necessary  for  our  happiness ;  and  I  wish  you  to 
be  happy.' 

"  A  few  days  after,  as  we  were  walking  together  out 
of  doors,  I  confessed  to  him  that  I  had  been  disturbed 
by  St.  Lambert's  arguments. 

"  '  I  think,'  said  Rousseau,  *  that  there  are  some  con 
victions  so  rooted  in  our  nature,  so  universally  received, 
so  efficaciously  preached,  not  by  men  only,  but  by  the 
phenomena  of  nature,  always  renewed  around  us,  that 
we  cannot  resist  such  concurrent  proofs.  The  animals, 
the  plants,  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  the  rain,  the  seasons 
of  the  year.'  '  Yet,'  said  I,  '  what  St.  Lambert  said  was 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  359 

very  strong.'  '  Madame,'  replied  he,  '  sometimes  I  am  of 
his  opinion :  in  my  shut-up  study,  with  my  two  fists  in 
my  eyes,  or  in  the  darkness  of  the  night.  But  look  at 
that '  (said  he,  lifting  his  hand  to  the  sky,  like  one  in 
spired)  :  '  the  sunrise,  sweeping  away  the  vapors,  and  re 
vealing  the  magnificence  of  nature,  sweeps  away  at  the 
same  time  these  dark  vapors  from  my  soul.  I  recover 
my  faith  in  God;  I  reverence  and  adore  him  ;  I  bow  in 
his  presence.'" 

In  1756  Rousseau  published  a  letter  addressed 
to  Voltaire  in  defense  of  Providence.  In  it  he 
says  :  — 

"  No :  I  have  suffered  too  much  in  this  world  to  be 
content  to  relinquish  the  hope  of  another.  All  the  sub 
tleties  of  metaphysics  never  induce  me  to  waver  for  a 
moment  in  my  faith  in  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul,  and 
in  a  beneficent  Providence.  I  feel  it  to  be  true  ;  I  be 
lieve  it  to  be  true ;  and  I  long  to  have  it  true." 

The  theism  of  Rousseau  was  not  the  common 
deism  of  his  time,  which  was  a  negation.  His  was 
positive,  full,  warm.  His  God  was  with  him  in 
all  his  sorrows  as  a  comforter.  No  pious  Christian 
was  more  constant  in  his  devout  habits  than  this 
so-called  philosopher  of  unbelief.  He  read  the 
Bible  every  day,  not  as  a  critic,  but  exactly  as 
the  humblest  Christian  reads  it,  —  for  comfort, 
strength,  and  inspiration.  One  anecdote  has  come 
up  among  the  recent  memoirs,  which  gives  us  a 
little  picture  of  Rousseau,  with  the  "  Imitation  of 


360  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

Christ  "  ill  his  hand  as  his  companion,  wandering 
among  the  fields  and  gathering  flowers.  It  is 
from  the  "  Memoires  d'un  Bibliophile,  par  M. 
Tenant  de  Latour,  Paris,  1861." 

M.  Latour  one  day  picked  up  at  a  book-stall  in 
Paris  a  copy  of  Thomas  a  Kempis'  "  De  Imitatione 
Christi,"  with  the  autograph  of  Jean  J.  Rousseau 
on  the  title-page.  It  had  been  evidently  read  with 
great  care,  and  more  than  half  the  book  was  un 
derlined  with  the  pencil.  It  bore  marks  also  of 
having  been  the  constant  pocket  companion  of 
Rousseau.  It  had  been  read  in  the  evening,  for 
there  were  drops  of  grease  from  the  candle  on  its 
pages;  and  it  had  accompanied  him  in  his  country 
walks,  for  there  were  dried  flowers  stuck  here  and 
there  between  the  leaves.  Now  a  letter  of  Rous 
seau  to  a  Paris  bookseller  is  extant,  dated  1763, 
containing  the  following  sentence  :  "  Voici  des  ar 
ticles  que  je  vous  prie  de  joindre  a  votre  premier 
envoi,  4  Pense*es  de  Pascal,  (Euvres  de  la  Bruyere, 
Imitation  de  Jesus  Christ,  Latin.' '  It  may  be 
added,  also,  that  this  volume  contained  a  dried  and 
pressed  periwinkle;  and  that,  just  a  year  after  the 
date  of  this  order  for  the  purchase  of  the  book, 
occurred  the  event  recorded  in  his  "  Confessions," 
of  his  finding  a  periwinkle  in  one  of  his  walks  near 
Crozier,  and  the  pleasure  it  gave  him. 

Such  being  the  character  of  his  theism,  what 
were  his  views  concerning  Christianity  ?  Here  it 
will  be  supposed  that  he  was,  of  course,  an  entire 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  361 

infidel.  But  the  whole  amount  of  his  infidelity 
was  a  skepticism  concerning  the  miracles  of  the 
New  Testament.  He  does  not  profess  to  disbe 
lieve  them  :  he  thinks  them  doubtful.  He  ques 
tions  them,  and  leaves  them.  He  asserts  every 
where  that  he  believes  Christianity,  but  he  be 
lieves  it  on  the  ground  of  its  own  sublime  truth, 
beauty,  and  usefulness,  and  because  of  the  holiness 
of  Christ's  character.  His  belief  here,  also,  is  no 
cold  assent.  So  far  as  he  does  believe,  it  is  with 
the  passionate  faith  of  an  admiring  and  loving 
heart. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  book  in  which  his  in 
fidelity  is  supposed  to  be  taught,  and  for  printing 
which  he  was  driven  from  France,  from  Geneva, 
from  Neufch&tel,  and  from  the  little  island  of  St. 
Peters  in  the  Lake  of  Bienne,  is  his  uEmile." 
In  this  book,  which  is  a  work  on  education,  an 
ideal  view  of  the  education  of  a  young  man  is  pre 
sented —  as  in  the  "  Cyropaedia "  of  Xenophon. 
In  the  course  of  it  he  gives  the  profession  of  faith 
of  a  vicar  of  Savoy ;  and  as  this  contains  the  chief 
offense  of  Rousseau  against  Christianity  it  must 
not  be  omitted :  — 

"  In  regard  to  revelation,"  says  the  vicar,  "  if  I  were 
a  better  reasoner,  or  better  taught,  I  might  perhaps  be 
sure  of  its  truth.  But  if  I  see  in  its  favor  proofs  which 
I  cannot  refute,  I  see  against  it  objections  to  which  I 
cannot  reply.  There  are  so  many  solid  reasons  for  and 
against,  that,  not  knowing  what  to  determine,  I  neither 


362  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

admit  nor  reject  it.  I  only  reject  the  obligation  to  be 
lieve  it,  because  this  pretended  obligation  is  incompatible 
with  the  justice  of  God.  I  remain  in  a  state  of  respect 
ful  doubt.  I  am  not  so  presumptuous  as  to  believe  my 
self  infallible.  I  reason  for  myself,  not  for  others.  I 
neither  blame  nor  imitate  them.  Their  judgment  may 
be  better  than  mine:  it  is  not  my  fault  that  it  is  not 
mine. 

"  I  also  confess  to  you  that  the  majesty  of  the  Script 
ures  astonishes  me:  the  holiness  of  the  gospel  is  an 
argument  which  speaks  to  my  heart,  and  which  I  should 
be  sorry  to  be  able  to  answer.  Read  the  books  of  the 
philosophers  with  all  their  pomp :  how  petty  they  are 
beside  this !  Is  a  book  at  once  so  sublime  and  so  simple 
the  work  of  man  ?  Can  it  be  that  he  whose  history  it 
relates  was  himself  a  mere  man  ?  Is  this  the  tone  of 
an  enthusiast,  or  of  a  mere  sectary  ?  What  sweetness, 
what  purity  in  his  manners !  what  touching  grace  in  his 
instructions !  what  elevation  in  his  maxims  !  what  pro 
found  wisdom  in  his  discourses  !  what  presence  of  mind, 
what  acuteness,  what  justness  in  his  replies  !  what  empire 
over  his  passions  !  Where  is  the  man,  where  the  sage, 
who  knows  in  this  way  how  to  act,  suffer,  and  die,  with 
out  weakness  and  without  ostentation  ?  When  Plato 
describes  his  imaginary  good  man,  covered  with  the 
opprobrium  of  crime,  yet  meriting  the  rewards  of  virtue, 
he  paints,  trait  by  trait,  Jesus  Christ What  prej 
udice,  blindness,  or-  bad  faith  does  it  not  require  to 
compare  the  son  of  Sophroniscus  with  the  son  of  Mary ! 
What  a  distance  between  the  two !  Socrates  dies  with 
out  pain,  without  ignominy;  he  sustains  his  character 
easily  to  the  end.  If  he  had  not  honored  his  life  with 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  363 

such  a  death,  we  should  have  thought  him  a  sophist. 
They  say  Socrates  invented  ethics ;  but  others  practised 
morality  before  he  taught  it.  Aristides  was  just  before 
Socrates  described  justice  ;  Leonidas  died  for  his  country 
before  Socrates  taught  the  duty  of  patriotism.  Sparta 
was  temperate  before  Socrates  praised  sobriety ;  Greece 
abounded  in  virtuous  men  before  he  defined  what  virtue 
is.  But  Jesus,  —  where  did  he  find  the  lofty  morality, 
of  which  he  alone  gave  both  the  lesson  and  the  example? 
From  the  midst  of  a  furious  fanaticism  proceeds  the 
purest  wisdom ;  among  the  vilest  of  people  appears  the 
most  heroic  and  virtuous  simplicity.  The  death  of  Soc 
rates,  tranquilly  philosophizing  among  his  friends,  is  the 
sweetest  one  could  desire ;  that  of  Jesus,  expiring  amid 
torments,  abused,  ridiculed,  cursed  by  a  whole  people,  is 

the  most  horrible  which  one  could  fear Yes:  if 

Socrates  lives  and  dies  like  a  philosopher,  Jesus  lives 
and  dies  like  a  God ! 

"  Will  you  say  that  the  history  of  Jesus  is  an  inven 
tion  !  My  friend,  people  do  not  invent  in  this  way ;  and 
the  actions  of  Socrates,  which  no  one  doubts,  are  less 
strongly  attested  than  those  of  Jesus  Christ.  Besides, 
you  thus  merely  remove  the  difficulty  farther  backward, 
without  overthrowing  it.  It  would  be  more  inconceiv 
able  that  four  men  should  have  agreed  to  invent  this 
story  than  that  one  should  have  furnished  its  subject. 
No  Jewish  authors  could  ever  have  found  out  this  tone, 
or  such  a  morality ;  and  the  gospel  has  traits  of  truth  so 
imposing,  so  perfectly  inimitable,  that  its  inventor  would 
be  more  astonishing  than  its  hero.  And  yet  this  same 
gospel  is  full  of  incredible  things,  of  things  opposed  to 
reason,  and  which  it  is  impossible  for  a  sensible  man  to 


364  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

conceive  or  to  admit.  What  shall  I  do  amid  such  con 
tradictions  ?  Remain  modest  and  circumspect,  my  child ; 
respect  in  silence  what  we  can  neither  reject  nor  com 
prehend,  and  be  humble  before  the  Great  Being  who 
alone  knows  the  truth." 

It  was  for  saying  this  that  a  storm  of  persecu 
tion  arose  against  Rousseau.  All  united  against 
him, — the  Catholics,  because  he  preached  toler 
ance  toward  all  churches ;  the  Protestants,  because 
he  preached  indifference  of  dogmas ;  the  atheists 
because  he  believed  in  God ;  the  deists,  because 
he  gave  such  praise  to  Christ  and  to  Christianity. 
Voltaire  was  so  incensed  with  him  for  this  rever 
ence  toward  Jesus,  that  he  cried  out,  ^  The  Judas  ! 
he  deserts  us  when  we  are  just  about  to  triumph." 
Beaumont,  Archbishop  of  Paris,  issued  a  manda 
mus  condemning  "  Emile  "  as  containing  abomi 
nable  and  pernicious  doctrine.  The  Parliament  of 
Paris  issued  a  decree  to  seize  the  book  and  its 
author.  "Thus,"  says  Rousseau,  "the  fanaticism 
of  atheism  and  that  of  Jesuitism,  meeting  in  their 
common  intolerance,  united  against  me."  He  was 
quietly  and  happily  living  at  Montmorency,  under 
the  protection  of  the  Marshal  of  Luxembourg, 
when  the  news  came.  He  had  a  habit  of  reading 
in  bed  every  night  till  he  became  sleepy.  His 
usual  reading  at  night  was  in  the  Bible ;  and  he 
had  read  it  thus  through  in  course  five  or  six  times. 
How  many  of  those  who  have  denounced  his  in- 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  365 

fidelity  can  say  as  much !  That  night  he  had  been 
reading  in  the  Book  of  Judges ;  and  the  painful 
story  of  the  Levite  of  Mount  Ephraim  was  in  his 
mind  when  the  news  came  that  he  was  to  be  ar 
rested  and  sent  to  prison  the  next  day.  At  first, 
he  determined  to  remain ;  but  in  those  days  one 
went  to  the  Bastile  without  examination  or  trial, 
and  remained  there  during  life,  without  the  power 
of  communicating  with  the  world.  By  the  ad 
vice  of  all  his  friends  he  fled ;  and  on  the  way 
to  Geneva  wrote  out  as  an  idyl,  in  the  style  of 
Gessner,  the  story  he  had  been  reading  from  the 
Bible. 

How  he  was  driven  from  Geneva  and  from 
Switzerland -we  will  not  stop  to  say  ;  but  that  the 
doubts  expressed  by  the  Savoyard  vicar  went  be 
yond  his  own  degree  of  unbelief  is  probable.  He 
wrote  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  atheists  and  deists 
who  mocked  at  Christianity  and  all  religion ;  he 
wrote  for  people  under  their  influence ;  and  he 
thought  it  best  to  put  less  of  faith  in  the  mouth 
of  his  vicar  than  he  had  himself.  Two  terrible 
answers  to  his  opponents  he  wrote:  one  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris ;  the  other  to  the  Council  of 
State  at  Geneva.  There  is  no  finer  specimen  of 
polemical  writing  in  any  literature  than  these. 
In  eloquence  they  compare  with  Milton's  "  De 
fense  of  the  People  of  England ;  "  in  keenness  of 
satire  they  rival  Voltaire;  in  compact  logic,  wit, 
and  terrible  invective  they  remind  us  of  Pascal. 


366  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

As  a  dialectician,  Rousseau  is  unrivaled.  He  is 
arguing  for  toleration,  and  his  theme  is  a  noble 
one.  If  one  remembers  that,  while  men  and  wom 
en  were  gayly  supping  in  the  skeptical  saloons 
of  Paris,  heretics  were  being  punished  all  over 
France ; l  that,  for  example,  in  1746  forty  Prot 
estant  gentlemen  were  condemned  to  death  in  a 
French  province  for  having,  been  present  at  a  re 
ligious  service  in  the  night-time,  —  one  can  see  the 
need  of  Rousseau's  arguments.  Consider  his  posi 
tion.  On  one  side  the  great  hierarchy,  still  sup 
ported  by  the  whole  power  of  the  state;  on  the 
other,  Rousseau,  a  fugitive,  pursued  by  a  parlia 
mentary  decree,  supporting  himself  by  his  books 
and  his  music,  defended  by  no  one,  condemned  also 
by  the  magistrates  of  Geneva,  and  then  turning  on 
both  Catholic  and  Protestant,  citing  both  before 
the  bar  of  European  Reason,  and  delivering  battle 
against  both  for  freedom  of  conscience.  He  shows 
easily  that  he  is  more  religious  than  his  age  and 
his  opponents ;  he  stands  as  defender  of  the  cause 
of  God ;  he  tears  in  pieces,  by  his  ardent  logic,  the 
archiepiscopal  mandate ;  and  these  writings,  says 
Villemain,  constitute  a  great  social  event  in  the 
age. 

In  his  "  Letters  from  the  Mountains,"  addressed 
to  the  people  of  Geneva,  he  maintains  the  proposi 
tion,  that  a  belief  in  miracles  is  not  essential   to 
a  belief  in  Christianity  ;  and  for  this  reason,  that 
1  Villemain. 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  367 

Christianity  has  a  variety  of  proofs,  of  which 
miracles  are  only  one.  Thus  it  is  proved  by  the 
nature  of  its  doctrine,  its  sublimity,  beauty,  holi 
ness;  it  is  also  proved  by  the  character  of  its 
founder  and  of  his  apostles,  by  their  purity,  sim 
plicity,  and  self-denying  goodness ;  and  also,  in 
the  third  place,  it  may  be  proved  by  miracles. 

"  Now,"  says  he,  "  I  declare  myself  a  Christian.  My 
persecutors  say  that  I  am  not.  They  prove  that  I  am 
not,  because  I  reject  Revelation  ;  and  they  prove  that  I 
reject  Revelation  because  I  do  not  believe  in  Miracles. 

"  But  in  order  that  this  inference  should  be  correct 
one  of  two  things  must  be  assumed,  —  either  that  Mira 
cles  are  the  only  proof  of  Revelation  or  that  I  also  reject 
the  other  proofs  of  it.  Now  it  is  not  true  that  Miracles 
are  the  only  proof  of  Revelation ;  and  it  is  riot  true  that 
I  reject  the  other  proofs  of  it. 

"This,  then,  is  our  position.  These  gentlemen,  de 
termined  to  make  me  reject  Revelation  in  spite  of  myself, 
count  for  nothing  that  I  receive  it  on  grounds  satisfac 
tory  to  my  own  mind  unless  I  also  receive  it  on  grounds 
which  are  not  so.  Because  I  cannot  do  that  they  say 
that  I  reject  it.  Can  anything  be  more  extravagant  than 
this?" 

"  I  do  not  deny  the  miracles  of  the  New  Testament," 
says  Rousseau,  in  this  same  writing :  "  I  suspend  my 
faith  in  regard  to  them.  I  also  contend  that  it  is  not 
essential  to  Christianity  to%believe  them." 

"The  Savoyard  vicar  brings  forward  objections  to 
miracles.  But  objections  are  not  negations.  As  for 
myself,  I  see  miracles  attested  in  the  Scriptures :  that  is 


368  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

enough  to  arrest  my  judgment.  If  I  did  not  see  them 
there  I  should  reject  them  at  once,  or  riot  call  them 
miracles ;  but  since  they  are  there  I  do  not  reject  them, 
nor  do  I  admit  them,  because  my  reason  refuses  to  do 
so,  and  because  I  do  not  consider  it  necessary  to  do  so./ 
I  can  believe  Christianity  without  them. 

"  I  might  go  farther.  I  have  proved  that  no  one  can 
be  sure  that  any  particular  fact  is  a  miraculous  fact ; 
....  for  since  a  miracle  is  an  exception  to  the  laws  of 
nature,  to  decide  that  a  fact  is  miraculous  we  must  be 
acquainted  with  all  the  laws  of  nature.  For  a  single 
law  which  we  do  not  know,  might,  in  certain  cases  un 
known  to  us,  change  the  effect  of  the  laws  which  we  do 
know.  Whoever,  therefore,  declares  that  any  particular 
fact  is  a  miracle,  declares  that  he  knows  all  the  laws  of 
nature,  and  that  this  one  fact  is  an  exception  to  all."  "  I 
might  therefore  admit  all  the  facts  contained  in  the 
Bible,  and  yet,  without  impiety,  deny  that  they  are  mi 
raculous.  But  I  do  not  go  so  far  as  this.  I  do  not 
deny  :  I  suspend  my  judgment." 

This  seems  clearly  enough  to  define  Rousseau's 
position  in  regard  to  Christian  belief.  He  be 
lieved  in  Christ  as  a  revelation  of  the  divine  will, 
accepted  his  truth  as  divine  truth,  called  him  his 
Master,  wished  to  belong  to  his  Church,  and  stud 
ied  his  words  with  reverence  ;  but  hesitated  upon 
miracles.  Here  is  a  little  scene  which  shows  still 
further  his  feelings  on  the  subject  of  Christian- 
ity:- 

"After  my  solemn  return  into  the  Protestant  Church, 
living  in  a  Protestant  country,  I  could  not,  without  failing 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  369 

in  my  engagements  and  in  duty  as  a  citizen,  neglect  the 
public  profession  of  the  worship  to  which  I  had  returned. 
I  attended,  therefore,  public  worship.  But  I  was  afraid, 
if  I  presented  myself  at  the  communion  table,  of  being 
repulsed.  I  therefore  wrote  to  the  clergyman  to  say  to 
him  that  I  was  in  heart  a  Protestant,  but  that  I  did  not 
wish  to  discuss  dogmas.  To  my  surprise  and  pleasure 
he  came  to  tell  me  that  he  would  willingly  admit  me  to 
the  communion  with  this  understanding;  and  that  both 
himself  and  his  elders  would  be  pleased  to  have  me  in 
their  flock.  I  have  seldom  had  so  agreeable  and  con 
soling  a  surprise.  To  live  always  alone  in  the  world 
was  to  me  a  very  sad  fate.  In  the  midst  of  so  many 
persecutions  it  was  very  sweet  to  be  able  to  say,  '  At 
last  I  am  among  brethren.'  I  went  to  the  communion 
with  emotions  of  tenderness  in  my  heart  that  were  per 
haps  the  best  preparation  I  could  make  in  the  eyes  of 
Heaven."  l 

Accordingly,  Rousseau,  so  far  from  being  an  in 
fidel,  was  a  Christian  who  had  his  doubts  about 
miracles.  In  this  age  we  should  call  him,  on  the 
side  of  his  unbelief,  a  rationalist,  or  a  naturalist, 
-  nothing  harder.  Why,  then,  it  may  be  said, 
was  he  thus  fiercely  pursued  by  all  parties? 

The  answer  to  this  throws  light  on  the  age,  the 
man,  and  the  subject. 

The  explanation  of  Rousseau  is  given  in  a  single 
word.  He  was  a  man  of  genius,  —  that  is,  a  man 
of  ideas ;  but  the  ideas  which  possessed  him  were 

1   Confessions,  Book  xii. 
24 


370  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

not  those  of  the  eighteenth  century,  but  those  of 
the  nineteenth.  He  was  before  his  time  in  every 
thing,  and  as  much  before  himself  as  he  was  be 
fore  his  time.  He  could  no  more  realize  his  ideas 
in  his  own  life  than  he  could  realize  them  in  the 
belief  of  his  contemporaries.  His  startling  origi 
nality,  his  fiery  eloquence,  interested,  beyond  all 
example,  the  nation,  but  gave  him  no  disciples,  no 
associates,  no  converts,  no  friends.  He  stood  al 
ways  alone.  What  was  there  in  common  between 
him  and  those  he  called  his  friends,  —  a  sneering 
Diderot,  a  worldly-minded  Grimm,  a  frivolous 
race  of  fine  ladies,  a  good-natured  and  common 
place  Madame  Warens,  or  a  poor  The'rese  le  Vas- 
seur  ?  What  did  the  great  noblemen,  the  Prince 
of  Conti,  the  Marshal  Luxembourg,  who  were  en 
tertained  by  his  flashing  genius,  care  for  his  ideas? 
They  did  not  understand  that  a  whole  revolution 
lay  hidden  in  them.  Possessed,  driven,  devoured 
by  his  thoughts,  he  could  not  carry  them  out  in 
his  own  life.  With  a  whole  modern  science  of 
education  teeming  in  his  brain,  —  a  science  which 
was  to  rescue  children  from  many  false  fetters,  — 
he  deposited  his  own  children  in  the  Foundling 
Hospital.  With  pure  ideas  of  love,  like  those  de 
picted  in  the  "  Helo'ise,"  which  among  the  nov 
els  of  his  day  is  like  Milton's  Lady  among  the 
jabbering  satyrs  of  "  Comus,"  his  own  intercourse 
with  women  was  unworthy.  He  was  not  a  licen 
tious  man ;  but  neither  had  he  a  single  experience 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  371 

of  a  truly  noble  love.  With  a  thirst  for  society, 
and  convictions  of  what  true  society  is,  with  a  feel 
ing  of  brotherly  love  toward  men  of  all  classes, 
and  a  grand  democratic  socialism,  he  fled,  tor 
mented,  even  from  those  who  really  wished  him 
well.  The  mean  and  selfish  actions  and  unworthy 
loves,  which  he  faithfully  records  in  his  "  Confes 
sions,"  filled  him  with  remorse  all  his  days.  He 
was  an  Orestes  pursued  by  the  Furies.  His  aban 
donment  of  his  children  was  contemplated  by 
him,  all  his  life  after,  with  horror ;  and  he  wrote 
"  Emile "  as  his  only  way  of  making  reparation 
to  society  for  this  great  wrong.  So  we  say  that 
his  ideas  were  as  far  above  his  own  conduct  as 
they  were  before  the  opinions  of  his  contempora 
ries.  His  belief  came  to  him  from  a  better  future ; 
his  life  flowed  into  him  from  the  corrupt  channels 
of  the  miserable  eighteenth  century. 

Still  there  were  many  noble  actions  -in  Rous 
seau's  life.  The  strain  and  tendency  of  his  soul 
was  toward  whatsoever  things  were  true,  just,  and 
generous.  He  was  no  flatterer  of  the  powerful; 
he  would  not  eat  the  bread  of  idleness  ;  he  re 
fused  the  pension  offered  him,  and  supported  him 
self  by  copying  music. 

Mme.  de  Pompadour,  the  king's  mistress,  se 
cured  the  services  of  Voltaire,  Duclos,  Crebillon, 
and  Marmontel.  They  were  all  willing  to  write  to 
her  verses  of  adulation  for  the  sake  of  her  patron 
age.  Not  so  Rousseau.  She  made  him  all  kinds 


372  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

of  handsome  offers  of  money,  place,  position,  if  he 
would  write  a  few  lines  in  her  favor.  Rousseau 
for  a  time  simply  ignored  these  proposals.  At 
last,  as  they  were  continued,  he  wrote  to  her, 
"  Madame,  the  wife  of  a  collier  is  more  respecta 
ble  in  my  eyes  than  the  mistress  of  a  prince." 
Mme.  de  Pompadour  did  not  resent  this  boldness, 
but  simply  said  he  was  an  owl.  "  Yes,  madame," 
replied  one  of  her  friends,  "  but  the  owl  of  Mi 
nerva." 

M.  Gaberel,  the  Genevese  pastor,  tells  us  that 
Rousseau  was  offered  the  place  of  librarian  in 
Geneva  in  order  to  give  him  a  support.  He 
writes  in  reply,  that  it  is  just  what  he  should 
like  best  to  do,  but  that  he  has  not  the  requisite 
knowledge.  "  I  do  not  know,"  says  he,  "  a  single 
book  as  a  librarian  ought  to  know  them.  I  can 
not  tell  which  is  the  best  edition  of  an  author  ;  I 
am  ignorant  of  Greek  ;  I  am  very  imperfectly 
acquainted  with  Latin ;  and  I  have  not  the  least 
particle  of  memory !  God  forbid  that  I  should 
introduce  into  this  country  the  habit  of  accepting 
duties  which  one  is  not  able  to  perform,  and  tak 
ing  offices  which  one  cannot  properly  fill." 

Rousseau  was  a  man  of  ideas.  This  is  his 
merit,  this  is  his  mission.  He  was  a  prophet  in 
the  eighteenth  century  preparing  the  way  of  the 
nineteenth.  In  our  time,  how  much  more  sym 
pathy  would  his  ideas  receive  !  But  then  he  went 
"in  the  heat  and  bitterness  of  his  spirit; "his 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  373 

work  was  "  a  burden  ;  "  he  was  obliged  to  make 
his  face  like  a  flint,  and  lift  up  his  voice,  whether 
men  would  hear,  or  whether  they  would  forbear. 

What,  then,  were  his  ideas  ?  These  will  best  be 
seen  by  quoting  a  few  passages  from  his  "  Emile," 
which  seems  to  us  his  master-piece. 

Its  subject  is  education.  Rousseau  had  faith 
in  nature  everywhere.  He  wished  to  follow  the 
method  of  nature  in  education,  and  to  throw  off 
the  shackles  of  system.  The  following  are  some 
passages  from  this  work,  now  half  forgotten  :  — 

All  is  good,  coming  from  the  hands  of  God.  All  de 
generates  in  the  hands  of  man. 

The  man  of  society  is  born,  lives,  and  dies  in  slavery. 
At  his  birth  he  is  wrapt  in  swaddling-bands  ;  at  his  death 
nailed  in  a  coffin ;  all  his  life  between,  he  is  fettered  by 
our  institutions. 

The  man  who  has  lived  the  most  is  not  he  who  has 
counted  most  years,  but  he  who  has  felt  most  of  life. 

It  is  of  less  importance  to  prevent  one  from  dying 
than  it  is  to  cause  him  to  live.  To  live  is  not  merely  to 
breathe  :  it  is  to  act. 

The  earliest  education  is  the  most  important ;  and 
this  belongs  unquestionably  to  woman.  Speak,  then,  to 
women  in  your  treatises  of  education. 

The  laws  are  always  occupied  too  much  with  prop 
erty,  and  too  little  with  persons,  because  their  object  is 
peace,  and  not  virtue ;  and  therefore  they  do  not  give 
enough  of  authority  to  mothers. 

All  that  which  we  do  not  possess  at  our  birth,  and 
which  we  need  when  we  are  grown,  comes  from  educa 
tion. 


374  JEEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

Education  comes  from  nature,  from  man,  or  from 
things.  Nature  develops  our  faculties,  man  teaches  us 
to  use  this  development,  and  things  give  us  personal  ex 
perience. 

Distrust  the  cosmopolites  who  seek  in  books  far  off 
the  duties  which  they  disdain  to  fulfill  to  those  near  at 
hand.  They  love  the  Tartars,  but  not  their  own  neigh 
bors. 

The  trade  I  desire  to  teach  is  life.  I  wish  to  make 
my  pupil  neither  magistrate,  priest,  nor  soldier,  but  man. 

True  education  consists  less  in  precepts  than  in  ex 
ercises. 

Expose  your  pupil  to  physical  evil  to  save  him  from 
moral  evil.  One  does  not  kill  one's  self  because  of  the 
sufferings  of  the  gout ;  only  those  of  the  soul  produce 
despair. 

Zeal  may  take  the  place  of  talent ;  but  talent  cannot 
take  the  place  of  zeal. 

The  humanity  of  Rousseau  appears,  in  this 
work,  in  his  care  for  the  little  infant.  He  uses 
all  the  resources  of  his  logic  and  eloquence  to 
procure  for  him  the  freedom  of  his  limbs  and 
the  food  of  his  mother's  bosom.  He  drives  away 
from  the  child  the  potions  and  medicines  of  which 
he  himself  had  so  often  been  the  victim.  Ten 
derness  for  their  infants,  it  is  said,  became  at 
once  a  la  mode  among  the  great  ladies  of  Paris, 
and  from  being  only  half-mothers,  they  became 
whole-mothers  of  their  children.  Rousseau  uses 
and  improves  the  ideas  of  Locke.  As  the  child 
grows  up,  he  does  not  allow  of  emulation,  he  de- 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  375 

presses  vanity  ;  and  he  substitutes  for  these  con 
science  and  the  love  of  doing  good.  More  salu 
tary  counsels  on  the  chaste  employment  of  youth 
were  never  given  from  the  pulpit.  The  moral  en 
thusiasm  of  the  work  is  a  kind  of  religion  through 
out  its  pages  ;  and  if  Rousseau  had  done  only  this 
he  would  have  deserved  well  of  his  race. 

But  he  wrote  also  the  "  Helo'ise ; "  he  wrote  the 
"  Social  Contract ;  "  both  of  them  books  in  which 
the  same  lofty  ideas  of  the  destiny  of  man  to  rise 
above  a  degraded  society  bear  full  sway,  —  books 
belonging  to  a  better  age,  and  meant  to  bring  it 
nearer. 

No  doubt  these  works  contain  many  errors; 
how  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Such  a  love  as  that 
described  in 'the  "  Heloise  "  may  not  be  possible 
to  man  ;  one  cannot  tread  safely  in  such  a  narrow 
way.  But  the  idea  of  a  holy,  chaste,  respectful 
love,  which  does  not  seek  its  own  gratification,  but 
the  highest  good  of  its  object,  is  certainly  as  true 
as  it  was  certainly  then  unusual  in  all  French  lit 
erature.  How  much  higher,  indeed,  is  it,  and  how 
much  purer,  than  the  "  Sorrows  of  Werther,"  or 
the  selfish  passion  of  Byron  ! 

There  never  was  such  a  thing  as  the  "  Social 
Contract."  True  ;  but  the  fundamental  ideas  of 
the  book,  —  that  government  is  for  the  good  of 
the  people,  and  that  their  consent  is  necessary  to 
make  it  legitimate,  —  these  are  the  foundations 
of  all  modern  political  liberty.  Yet  not  liberty 


3T6  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

only,  but  fraternity,  was  in  the  mind  of  Rousseau, 
as  the  object  of  society.  Man  was  to  respect  and 
love  man.  All  aristocracy,  all  monopoly,  all  class 
privileges,  were  false  and  evil.  This  thought,  at 
least,  we  in  America  can  accept. 

Pure  love,  born  of  Christian  thought,  —  love 
whose  object  is  the  soul,  and  not  mere  personal 
charms,  —  was  put  into  words  on  the  shores  of  the 
lake  of  Geneva.  The  place  where  the  scene  is 
laid  has  become  holy  ground.  Even  Byron,  whose 
idea  of  love  was  so  much  meaner,  could  reverence 
the  noble  muse  of  Rousseau,  and  not  pass  near 
Clarens  or  the  rocks  of  Meillerie  without  offering 
his  homage  in  his  own  inimitably  sweet  and  flow 
ing  verse  :  — 

"  Clareus,  sweet  Clarens,  birthplace  of  deep  Love, 

Thine  air  is  the  young  breath  of  passionate  thought ; 

Thy  trees  take  root  in  Love  ;  the  snows  above 
The  very  glaciers  have  his  colors  caught, 
And  sunset  into  rose- hues  sees  them  wrought 

By  rays  which  sleep  there  lovingly  :  the  rocks, 

The  permanent  crags,  tell  here  of  Love,  who  sought 

In  them  a  refuge  from  the  worldly  shocks 

Which  stir  and  sting  the  soul  with  hope  that  woos,  then  mocks." 

As  a  writer,  Rousseau  still  stands  at  the  sum 
mit  of  French  literature.  M.  Sainte-Beuve  says 
that  Rousseau  is  "  the  swallow  which  announces 
a  new  spring  for  the  French  language."  His  pa 
tience  in  correcting  his  sentences  was  extraordi 
nary.  He  did  not  attain  to  his  perfect  mastery 
of  language  without  the  greatest  labor.  Here  is 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  377 

a  specimen  of  the  way  in  which  a  sentence  was 
brought  to  perfection.  He  first  wrote,  "  Devant 
moi  s'etalait  Tor  du  superbe  genet,  et  la  pourpre  de 
la  modeste  bruy£re."  He  then  corrected  it  thus  : 
"  Le  splendide  genet  dore,  et  la  bruy£re  dclatante." 
He  then  again  altered  it  to  "  L'or  du  genet  sau- 
vage,  et  la  pourpre  des  steriles  bruy£res."  And 
finally  he  left  it,  "  Devant  moi  s'etalait  Tor  des 
genets  et  la  pourpre  des  bruyeres." 

Yet  this  perfect  writer  and  man  filled  with 
ideas  was  at  first  thought  an  idiot.  When  he 
was  twenty  years  old,  M.  D'Aubonne,  cousin  of 
Mme.  Warens,  said,  "  Rousseau  est  un  garc^on 
sans  idees,  tres  borne',  s'il  n'est  pas  tout-a-fait 
inepte." 

The  life  of  Rousseau  was,  unhappily  for  him,  in 
an  age  in  which  Dogmatism  and  Formalism  had 
resulted  in  Skepticism.  The  Church  was  dead  in 
routine  and  in  doctrinal  orthodoxy  ;  and  an  in 
evitable  reaction  drove  men  into  unbelief.  Cath 
olic  formalism  in  France,  Protestant  formalism 
in  Geneva,  resulted,  —  in  the  one  place,  in  the 
atheism  of  the  Encyclopaedists ;  in  the  other,  in 
the  milder  skepticism  of  Rousseau.  When  we 
make  religion  to  consist  in  ecclesiastical  forms  or 
in  stern  dogmas  we  are  preparing  the  way  for  re 
bellion  and  revolution.  The  infidelity  of  France 
did  not  come  from  the  philosophers  ;  it  came  from 
the  bigotry  of  the  Jesuits  who  guided  Louis 
XIV.  in  his  persecution  of  the  Huguenots.  The 


378  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

skepticism  of  Rousseau  was  the  child  of  Calvin's 
bitter  theology  ;  and  we  think  that  Rousseau's 
warm-hearted  and  loving  skepticism  was  prefer 
able  to  that  ferocious,  though  honest  Christianity. 
If  the  one  had  more  of  truth,  the  other  had  more 
of  love. 

The  misery  of  Rousseau's  life  came  partly  from 
himself.  He  violated  great  and  sacred  laws  which 
cannot  be  broken  with  impunity.  He  wasted 
the  precious  hours  of  his  youth  in  weak  enjoy 
ment  of  the  leisure  provided  for  him  by  Madame 
Warens,  —  without  any  healthy  labor  or  any 
manly  aim.  He  left  her,  not  from  conscience,  but 
from  irritated  vanity  and  self-love.  He  took  to 
his  home  another  woman,  no  way  suited  to  him, 
and  lived  as  a  husband  with  her  —  not  really 
loving  her,  but  making  her  half-companion,  half- 
housekeeper  —  for  long  years.  The  same  weak 
self-indulgence  led  him  to  renounce  the  charge  of 
his  children.  All  through  life,  he  followed  feel 
ing  and  sentiment  rather  than  any  intelligent 
law  of  duty.  His  ideas  were  noble,  his  practices 
were  inferior  and  commonplace.  As  a  man  of 
thought  he  has  done  a  great  work  in  the  world  by 
leading  the  way  toward  something  higher  :  as  a 
man  of  action  he  has  served  the  world  as  a  warn 
ing  to  be  shunned.  His  teaching  is  like  the  pure 
and  heavenly  light  of  the  stars,  pointing  mariners 
on  their  way  ;  his  conduct,  the  light-house  set 
among  roaring  breakers  and  over  perilous  rocks, 
showing  them  what  they  ought  to  avoid. 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  379 

But  let  us  have  pity  for  him,  remembering  his 
long  sorrows  and  bitter  sufferings.  Worn  with 
severe  and  chronic  disease  during  the  most  of  his 
life  ;  undoubtedly  insane  in  his  later  years  ;  never 
understood ;  having  no  real  friends ;  a  forlorn 
wanderer,  an  exile,  a  banished  man,  the  object  of 
alternate  enthusiasm  and  abuse ;  having  known 
no  mother's  love  nor  father's  care  in  childhood, 
no  wise  counsel  in  youth ;  thrown  on  his  own  re 
sources  for  support  all  his  life  long ;  never  meet 
ing  a  single  noble-hearted  and  wise  friend  or 
adviser ;  having  never  the  happiness  of  real  do 
mestic  joy ;  tormented  with  jealous  suspicions ; 
longing  for  love  and  never  finding  it,  —  there  has 
not  wandered  on  this  earth  a  more  unhappy  man, 
nor  one  who  deserved  more  truly  to  be  called  the 
apostle  of  affliction. 

M.  Villemain  —  one  of  the  best  of  French  crit 
ics,  worthy  compeer  of  Guizot  and  Cousin,  of 
whose  lectures  on  the  eighteenth  century  we  have 
made  frequent  use  in  this  essay  —  thus  concludes 
his  remarks  on  Jean  Jacques  :  — 

"  When  I  speak  of  Rousseau,  and  mingle  with  my 
sincere  criticisms  the  admiration  which  it  is  impossible 
to  refuse  him,  I  am  publicly  reproached  with  having 
made  an  apotheosis  of  that  '  vile,'  that  '  infamous  '  Rous 
seau.  I  will  stop  speaking  of  him,  and  then  will  grow 
tiresome,  since  that  is  more  orthodox.  And  yet,  gentle 
men,  you  know  with  what  conscience  I  have  told  both 
the  good  and  the  evil ;  how  I  have  dwelt  long  on  the 


380  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

errors  which  obscured  in  Rousseau  the  brilliancy  of  his 
strong  imagination,  and  of  the  soul  which  rose  naturally 
toward  noble  objects.  I  have  explained  his  errors,  but 
not  justified  them,  out  of  the  history  of  his  time.  Well, 
this,  it  seems,  is  not  enough.  But  it  is  not  my  fault  if 
his  words,  descending  like  a  sword  or  like  fire,  have  agi 
tated  the  souls  of  his  contemporaries.  I  do  not  be 
long  to  that  age.  I  am  not  M.  Malesherbes,  the  Minis 
ter  of  State,  who,  in  his  enthusiasm,  privately  corrected 
the  proofs  of  the  '  Emile.'  I  am  not  the  Duke  of  Lux 
embourg  or  the  Prince  of  Conti.  I  did  not,  in  opposi 
tion  to  the  prejudices  of  my  rank  and  the  scruples  of  my 
faith,  welcome,  as  they  did,  to  my  castle,  Jean  Jacques, 
democratic  philosopher  and  free-thinker.  It  is  after 
sixty  years  have  passed  that,  led  by  curiosity,  in  the 
course  of  study,  opening  a  book  whose  pages  are  still 
glowing  with  an  eloquence  which  can  never  pass  away, 
I  merely  give  you  an  account  of  the  impressions  of  en 
thusiasm,  of  astonishment,  of  doubt,  of  blame,  which  this 
book  occasions  within  me.  These  I  communicate  with 
out  art ;  judge  them  for  yourselves  :  I  neither  impose  on 
you  my  admiration,  nor  forbid  you  to  censure.  I  have 
only  told  you  the  truth,  —  it  is  the  truth  which  they 
accuse." 

He  loved  much ;  perhaps  he  has  been  forgiven 
much.  He  suffered  much  ;  perhaps  his  faults  have 
been  enough  punished.  His  faults  were  those  of 
eclat;  those  which  it  is  easy  for  all  men  to  con 
demn.  Dr.  Johnson,  denouncing  pensioners  in 
his  Dictionary  as  those  who  sold  themselves  for  a 
bribe  to  betray  their  country,  and  then  accepting 


JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU.  381 

a  pension  himself  from  a  Whig  king ;  poured  con 
tempt  on  Rousseau,  who  preferred  copying  music 
to  taking  a  pension  from  the  King  of  Prussia. 
Rousseau  had  an  upright  soul,  and  a  truth-loving 
soul :  he  was  faithful  to  his  light ;  or,  if  led  astray, 
openly  confessed  and  bewailed  his  sin.  We  for 
give  David  his  murder  because  he  repented.  We 
forgive  Peter  his  repeated  lies  because  he  re 
pented.  Shall  we  not  forgive  Rousseau  his  chief 
sin,  of  abandoning  his  children,  when  he  bitterly 
bewailed  it  ever  after,  and  made  an  expiation  in 
his  "  Emile,"  devoted  to  saving  little  children  from 
the  sufferings  and  cruelty  they  endured  in  his 
time  ? 

We  cannot  better  close  this  study  of  Rousseau's 
life  than  with  the  words  of  Thomas  Carlyle :  — 

"  Hovering  in  the  distance,  with  woe-struck,  mina 
tory  air,  stern-beckoning,  comes  Rousseau.  Poor  Jean 
Jacques  !  Alternately  deified  and  cast  to  the  dogs ;  a 
deep-minded,  high-minded,  even  noble,  yet  wofully  mis- 
arranged  mortal,  with  all  misformations  of  Nature  inten- 
sated  to  the  verge  of  madness  by  unfavorable  fortune. 
A  lonely  man  ;  his  life  a  long  soliloquy  !  The  wander 
ing  Tiresias  of  the  time,  —  in  whom,  however,  did  lie 
prophetic  meaning,  such  as  none  of  the  others  offer. 
Whereby,  indeed,  it  might  partly  be  that  the  world  went 
to  such  extremes  about  him ;  that,  long  after  his  depart 
ure,  we  have  seen  one  whole  nation  worship  him;  and 
a  Burke,  in  the  name  of  another,  class  him  with  the 
offscourings  of  the  earth.  His  true  character,  with  its 


382  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUSSEAU. 

lofty  aspirings  and  poor  performings,  —  and  how  the 
spirit  of  the  man  worked  so  wildly,  with  celestial  fire  in 
a  thick,  dark  element  of  chaos,  and  shot  forth  ethereal 
radiance,  all-piercing  lightning,  yet  could  not  illuminate, 
was  quenched  and  did  not  conquer :  —  this,  with  what 
lies  in  it,  may  now  be  pretty  accurately  appreciated. 
Let  his  history  teach  all  whom  it  concerns  to  '  harden 
themselves  against  the  ills  which  Mother  Nature  will  try 
them  with ; '  to  seek  within  their  own  soul  what  the 
world  must  forever  deny  them  ;  and  say  composedly  to 
the  Prince  of  the  Power  of  this  lower  Earth  and  Air, 
<  Go  thou  thy  way  :  I  go  mine/  " 


XVIII. 

THE  HEROES  OF  ONE  COUNTRY 
TOWN. 


THE  HEEOES  OF  ONE  COUNTRY 
TOWN.1 


MEETING  to  dedicate  these  stones  to  the  mem 
ory  of  the  brave  men  of  this  place  who  gave  their 
lives  in  the  cause  of  Union  and  Freedom,  our 
minds  are  carried  back  to  the  time  when  they 
went  from  among  us.  Who  can  forget  those  dark 
hours  at  the  commencement  of  the  war  ?  The 
long  struggle  between  Liberty  and  Slavery  had 
brought  face  to  face  two  gigantic  foes.  One  was 
the  slave-power,  —  an  oligarchy  of  about  four  hun 
dred  thousand  slave-holders,  owning  some  four  mill 
ions  of  slaves,  worth  three  thousand  millions  of 
dollars.  Intermarrying  among  themselves,  hold 
ing  the  chief  political  offices  in  the  South,  the 
slave-holders  were  an  aristocracy  as  proud,  exclu 
sive,  and  domineering  as  that  of  Venice  or  Poland. 
United  by  common  interests,  —  pecuniary,  social, 
and  political,  —  with  the  single  paramount  purpose 
of  maintaining  and  extending  slavery,  it  ruled  the 
South  with  a  rod  of  iron,  allowing  no  freedom  of 

1  An  address  delivered  to  the  people  of  West  Roxbury,  Mass., 
on  the  dedication  of  a  monument  to  the  soldiers  of  that  town. 
25 


386       THE  HEROES   OF   ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

speech,  of  the  press,  or  of  the  pulpit.  By  means 
of  this  perfect  union  it  obtained  the  control  of  the 
national  government,  and,  before  1860,  had  taken 
possession  of  the  whole  national  organization.  It 
annexed  Texas  in  1845,  defeated  the  Wilmot  Pro 
viso  in  1846,  passed  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill  in 
1850,  repealed  the  Missouri  Compromise  in  1854, 
obtained  the  Dred  Scott  Decision  in  1857.  It 
controlled  both  houses  of  Congress,  possessed  the 
executive,  and  directed  the  decisions  of  the  judici 
ary  ;  so  holding  in  its  hand  the  army  and  navy  of 
the  Union. 

But,  on  the  other  side,  there  had  grown  up,  with 
wonderful  rapidity,  a  mighty  opposing  force.  It 
was  unorganized  ;  it  was  invisible.  Its  weapons 
were  not  carnal ;  its  missiles  were  the  imponder 
ables  of  the  soul.  It  had  neither  fleets  nor  armies, 
neither  judges  nor  presidents  ;  but  it  was  a  terrible 
power,  ominous  of  coming  change.  It  was  the 
antislavery  opinion  of  the  North,  which  had  been 
opposed  first  by  mobs,  then  by  ridicule,  lastly  by 
arguments,  but  had  conquered  them  all.  As  Herod 
the  king,  in  the  midst  of  his  power  and  glory, 
feared  John  the  Baptist,  "  knowing  that  he  was  a 
just  man,"  so  the  slave-power,  which  feared  noth 
ing  else,  feared  the  antislavery  platform.  Will 
iam  Lloyd  Garrison  might  have  used  the  words 
of  Pope,  and  said,  - 

"  Yes,  I  am  proud ;  I  must  be  proud,  to  see 
Men,  not  afraid  of  God,  afraid  of  me." 


THE  HEROES    OF   ONE  COUNTRY  TOWN.       387 

Both  the  great  parties,  Democratic  and  Whig, 
united  in  1850  to  put  down  the  antislavery  agita 
tion.  For  a  few  months  there  was  a  lull  in  the 
storm.  Then  a  woman's  pen,  inspired  by  genius 
and  profound  conviction,  broke  the  silence.  "'Un 
cle  Tom's  Cabin  "  was  published.  Five  hundred 
thousand  copies  were  sold  before  the  end  of  the 
year, — a  million  in  England.  It  was  translated 
into  nineteen  languages,  and  the  whole  world  was 
again  discussing  the  great  theme. 

At  last  the  "  irrepressible  conflict  "  of  tongue 
and  pen  —  as  Mr.  Seward  happily  termed  it  at 
Rochester  in  1858  —  drew  to  its  close,  and  a 
sterner  strife  became  imminent.  Abraham  Lin 
coln  was  chosen  President  in  November,  1860. 
Seven  States  seceded  from  the  Union.  Southern 
Senators  resigned  their  seats  in  Congress.  The 
seceding  States  seized  on  the  forts  and  other  pub 
lic  property  of  the  United  States  in  their  neigh 
borhood.  Finally,  April  12,  1861,  fire  was  opened 
on  Fort  Sumter,  and  the  war  began. 

And  here  let  me  stop  a  moment  to  see  how  the 
Providence  of  God  had  prepared  the  way  for  a 
successful  defense  of  the  Union  against  its  foes. 
The  North  had  been  educated  for  years  by  two 
great  political  parties  :  by  the  Republican,  whose 
war-cry  was  Freedom;  and  the  Democratic,  whose 
watchword  was  Union.  Secession  struck  at  both. 
It  defied  Freedom,  by  its  purpose  of  maintaining 
and  extending  slavery ;  it  struck  at  Union,  by  its 


388       THE  HEROES    OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

purpose  of  establishing  a  Southern  Confederacy. 
It  therefore  united  against  itself  all  that  was 
honest  and  true  in  the  two  great  Northern  parties. 
Those  who  had  been  educated  by  the  Democrats 
to  believe  in  Union,  those  who  had  been  educated 
by  the  Republicans  to  believe  in  Freedom,  joined 
hands  to  defend  both  when  threatened  by  seces 
sion.  Let  us  remember  this,  and  always  maintain 
Freedom  and  Union,  one  and  inseparable. 

Again,  consider  how  fortunate  we  were  in  the 
President  chosen  for  the  hour.  He  seems  to  have 
been  the  very  man  to  unite  the  North.  Had  he 
been  more  of  an  abolitionist  he  would  not  have 
carried  with  him  the  conservatives  ;  had  he  been 
more  of  a  conservative,  he  would  not  have  had  the 
support  of  the  reformers.  Moving  slowly,  but  al 
ways  moving;  cautious,  but  determined;  surround 
ing  himself  with  the  best  and  wisest  advisers,  but 
at  last  deciding  all  great  questions  himself ;  bear 
ing  the  malignant  assaults  of  foes  and  the  impa 
tience  of  friends  with  imperturbable  good  temper, 
—  he  gained  and  held  the  confidence  of  the  people. 
Remembering  all  this,  let  us  also  bless  God  for 
having  sent  us,  in  our  hour  of  need,  the  great  and 
good  Abraham  Lincoln. 

And  once  again,  a  good  Providence  had  pre 
pared  the  nation  for  this  terrific  struggle  when 
the  Fathers  of  our  State  established  the  system  of 
free  schools.  Without  these  we  never  could  have 
conquered  the  rebellion.  The  government  could 


THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN.       389 

have  done  nothing  if  it  had  not  been  supported 
always  by  the  determined  will  of  the  nation. 
That  will  was  the  result  of  conviction,  and  that 
conviction  was  born  of  intelligence.  Every  man 
at  the  North  knew  that  his  prosperity  and  secu 
rity,  his  present  comforts  and  his  hope  for  the 
future,  depended  on  putting  down  the  rebellion. 
That  knowledge  alone  enabled  the  people  to  make 
the  efforts,  meet  the  dangers,  and  bear  the  priva 
tions  of  the  long  war.  Without  the  free-school 
system,  the  people  could  never  have  attained  that 
knowledge.  The  common  schools  saved  the  na 
tion.  Therefore  let  the  nation  always  maintain 
the  common  school,  —  the  best  democratic  institu 
tion  in  the  land,  where  the  sons  of  the  richest  and 
poorest  man  sit  side  by  side, — the  unsectarian 
school,  whose  doors  are  open  to  all  the  children  of 
the  State. 

But  still  another  element  was  needed  to  organize 
these  convictions,  and  to  apply  them  to  the  work 
in  hand  ;  and  that  also  was  providentially  pro 
vided  by  our  plan  of  local  self-government.  The 
people,  accustomed  from  the  first  to  assemble  in 
town  meetings,  did  not  wait  to  be  called  upon  from 
Washington,  but  came  together  in  their  townships, 
chose  committees  to  raise  men,  voted  money  for 
immediate  wants,  and  proceeded  to  discipline 
troops.  Let  us  maintain  the  townships  and  the 
primary  meetings,  and  resist  all  excessive  central 
ization. 


390       THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

Lastly,  there  was  the  preparation  made  by  the 
Northern  church  in  giving  a  religious  education  to 
the  conscience.  When  the  general  in  command 
•went  into  Faneuil  Hall  to  see  the  troops  who 
passed  the  night  there  before  marching  to  re 
lieve  Washington,  he  found  them  singing  psalms, 
and  is  reported  to  have  said  :  "  Good  heavens  I 
have  the  Southerners  got  to  fight  men  who  sing 
psalms  ?  "  —  remembering,  perhaps,  Cromwell's 
iron-clad  regiments.  The  New  England  churches 
differ  on  many  points,  but  in  one  they  agree ; 
they  all  teach  that  religion  consists  in  obedience 
to  God's  moral  laws,  and  not  merely  in  the  belief 
of  creeds.  Religion  at  the  South  is  often  a  belief, 
a  ceremony,  or  an  emotion  ;  religion  at  the  North 
has  been,  in  the  main,  an  attempt  to  do  justly, 
love  mercy,  and  walk  humbly  with  God. 

The  nerve  of  our  army  was  in  its  religious  con 
victions.  The  true  leader  of  our  nation's  armies 
was  that  stern  old  man,  possessed  by  the  sense 
of  justice,  —  a  fanatic  if  you  will,  but  a  fanatic 
for  humanity  and  right ;  awful  in  his  purpose  as 
an  old  Jewish  prophet;  the  incarnation  of  Pu 
ritanism  as  applied  to  the  nineteenth  century. 
Wlierever  our  armies  inarched,  John  Brown's 
soul  marched  before  them,  making  them  feel  that 
theirs  was  the  cause  of  God,  and  that  the  Lord 
was  on  their  side,  so  that  they  were  sure  of  ulti 
mate  success.  In  that  faith  Shaw  fell  at  Wagner, 
and  Putnam  at  Ball's  Bluff.  In  that  faith  these 


THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN.       391 

our  noble  sons  and  brothers  were  sanctified,  and 
the  war  became  a  holy  war.  The  battle-hymn  of 
the  republic  was  inspired  by  this  idea,  for 

"  Their  eyes  had  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord." 

So  it  came  to  pass,  by  means  of  our  free  schools 
and  our  other  Northern  institutions,  that  when  the 
hurricane  of  secession  burst  on  the  land  the  coun 
try  was  prepared  to  resist  and  conquer  it.  Then 
it  was  seen  that  the  cold,  hard  North  was  built  on 
a  "  surging,  subterranean  fire,"  which  lifted  it  to 
the  height  of  the  solemn  hour.  Then,  when  the 
awful  storm  of  secession  swept  like  a  tropical  cy 
clone  over  the  South  ;  black  with  thunder,  red  with 
forked  lightning  ;  it  was  answered  by  a  Northern 
earthquake  which  shook  the  land  from  Maine  to 
Minnesota,  and  poured  out  its  volcanic  fires  of  pa 
triotism  from  the  pine  forests  of  Katahdn  to  the 
snowy  peaks  of  Colorado.  Then  one  great  im 
pulse  united  all  hearts  and  hands  in  the  deter- 
inined  purpose  to  save  the  country.  Then  we 
knew  no  longer  any  distinction  of  Republican  or 
Democrat,  foreign  citizen  or  native  American, 
Catholic  or  Protestant,  capitalist  or  day-laborer. 
Then  the  hardy  German  and  the  warm-hearted 
Irishman  joined  with  the  Puritan  and  Yankee  to 
save  the  country,  the  dear,  common  mother  of  all. 
Then  the  fair-haired  boy  —  the  support  of  his 
aged  father,  the  joy  of  his  mother's  heart,  the 
ripe  fruit  of  our  best  culture  —  said,  "Father, 


392       THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

mother,  it  is  my  duty  to  go  ;  let  me  go  and  die, 
if  it  must  be,  for  my  country  ;  "  and  they  laid 
their  hands  on  his  young  head,  and  answered, 
"  Go,  my  boy  ;  go  and  die  !  "  Then  from  all  the 
towns  of  Massachusetts  came  one  voice,  —  from 
her  farms  and  her  manufactories,  from  her  fisher 
men  and  her  sailors  :  — 

"  From  her  rough  coasts  and  isles,  which  hungry  ocean 
Gnaws  with  his  surges  ;  from  her  fisher's  skiff, 
With  white  sail  swaying  to  the  breezes'  motion 
Round  rock  and  cliff; 

"  From  the  free  fireside  of  her  unbought  farmer  ; 
From  her  free  laborer,  at  his  loom  and  wheel ; 
From  her  brown  smithshop,  where,  beneath  the  hammer, 
Rings  the  red  steel,"  — 

From  each  and  all,  —  one  grand  impulse  of  con 
science,  courage,  and  patriotism  hurried  the  young 
and  old  forward  to  imitate  their  fathers,  and  offer 
in  the  holy  cause  "  their  lives,  their  fortunes,  and 
their  sacred  honor." 

Our  rulers  at  Washington,  far  behind  the  peo 
ple  in  their  appreciation  of  th^  situation,  were 
alarmed  at  the  magnitude  of  the  popular  move 
ment,  and  tried  to  check  it.  May  15,  1861, 
Secretary  Cameron  positively  refused  to  accept 
from  Governor  Andrew  more  than  six  regiments 
of  three  months'  volunteers,  and  said,  in  his  letter 
to  our  Governor,  "  it  is  important  to  reduce  rather 
than  to  enlarge  this  number  (of  six  regiments), 
and  in  no  event  to  exceed  it.  Let  me  earnestly 


THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN.       393 

recommend  to  you,  therefore,  to  call  for  no  more 
than  eight  regiments,  of  which  six  only  are  to 
serve  for  three  years  ;  and  if  more  are  already 
called  for,  to  reduce  the  number  by  discharge." 

But  before  the  end  of  the  war  Massachusetts 
sent  to  the  front  sixty-one  regiments  of  infantry, 
besides  artillery  and  cavalry;  furnished,  out  of  a 
population  of  one  million  two  hundred  thousand 
one  hundred  and  fifty-nine  thousand  soldiers  and 
sailors  to  the  army  and  navy  of  the  United  States, 
and  raised  and  expended  $42,000,000.  At  the  end 
of  the  war  it  appeared  that  every  city  and  town 
had  filled  its  quota  upon  every  call  for  troops  ;  and 
all,  except  twelve,  had  furnished  a  surplus  over 
all  demands,  the  aggregate  of  which  surplus  was 
over  fifteen  thousand  men.  These  facts  have  been 
furnished  me  by  one  of  our  townsmen,  General 
Schooler,  whose  services  during  the  war,  as  Adju 
tant-general,  were  of  the  greatest  value  to  the 
State  and  nation. 

In  all  this  work  our  town  took  an  ample  share. 
Our  first  town  meeting  in  relation  to  the  war  was 
held  May  20,  1861,  and  its  chairman  was  a  man 
who  devoted  his  time,  thought,  and  means,  during 
the  whole  war,  to  his  country  and  its  cause.  In 
1863  the  town  voted  him  its  thanks  for  his  services 
in  procuring  volunteers.  But  no  formal  vote  of 
thanks  can  express  what  we  all  owe  to  the  energy, 
patriotism,  and  devotion  of  our  loved,  revered,  and 
lamented  fellow-citizen,  STEPHEN  M.  WELD. 


894       THE  HEROES   OF   ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

At  a  meeting  in  1862,  it  being  proposed  to  lay 
out  a  new  road,  it  was  resolved,  on  motion  of 
John  C.  Pratt,  "  that  the  only  road  desirable  to 
be  opened  at  the  present  time  is  the  road  to  Rich 
mond." 

West  Roxbury  furnished  seven  hundred  and 
twenty  men  to  the  war,  a  surplus  of  twenty-six 
over  and  above  all  demands,  and  appropriated 
186,000  to  war  purposes,  besides  122,000  from 
private  subscriptions. 

The  women  of  West  Roxbury,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  struggle,  formed  a  Soldiers'  Aid  Society, 
which  raised  over  $8,000,  and  furnished  our  sol 
diers  with  more  than  eight  thousand  articles  of 
clothing  and  comfort.  I  may  be  allowed  here  to 
name  the  president  and  active  promoter  of  that 
Society,  Mrs.  GEORGE  W.  COFFIN. 

In  this  town  was  recruited  and  drilled  one  of 
the  finest  of  the  Massachusetts  regiments.  I  hap 
pened,  to  be  the  owner  of  Brook  Farm  in  1861 ; 
and  when  the  Second  Massachusetts  was  about  to 
be  organized,  I  offered  it  to  my  friend,  Morris 
Copeland,  Quartermaster  of  that  regiment,  and  it 
was  accepted.  Before  I  had  the  farm  it  had  been 
the  scene  of  a  famous  social  experiment  not  emi 
nently  successful.  I  never  raised  much  of  a  crop 
upon  it  before ;  but  in  1861  it  bore  the  greatest 
crop  of  any  farm  in  Massachusetts,  in  the  courage, 
devotion,  and  military  renown  of  the  officers  and 
men  of  that  noble  regiment. 


THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

And  now  we  are  here  to  do  honor  to  the  brave 
men  who  went  from  among  us  to  give  themselves 
to  this  great  struggle  for  Union  and  Freedom. 
We  have  welcomed  back,  with  tears  and  praises 
and  thanks  to  God,  those  whom  the  cruel  horrors 
of  war  spared  to  return.  We  welcome  to-day, 
with  tears  and  praises,  those  immortal  souls  whose 
mortal  bodies  could  not  return  alive.  They  sleep 
on  many  fields, — in  the  lovely  valleys  of  Virginia, 
on  the  pestilential  plains  of  North  and  South  Car 
olina,  on  the  shores  of  Texas,  on  the  bluffs  of  the 
Mississippi,  in  the  far  South,  and  in  the  cemetery 
of  Gettysburg  amidst  the  smiling  valleys  of  Penn 
sylvania.  Of  our  forty-six  West  Roxbury  soldiers 
who  died  in  the  war  for  Union  and  Freedom, 
one  was  killed  at  Bull  Run,  in  the  first  battle  of 
the  war;  nine  fell  in  1862,  seven  in  1863,  nine  in 
1864,  three  in  1865,  and  seven  at  times  unknown. 
Would  that  the  time  would  allow  us  to  speak  of 
each  separately.  But  one  or  two  cases  of  special 
interest  I  may  be  permitted  to  dwell  upon  for  a 
moment. 

General  THOMAS  J.  C.  AMORY,  who  died  of 
yellow  fever  at  Beaufort,  North  Carolina,  October 
7,  1864,  four  days  after  the  death  of  his  wife  of 
the  same  disease,  was  the  first  officer  of  the  regular 
army  who  became  an  officer  of  volunteers  in  Massa 
chusetts  ;  and  the  first  officer  of  the  regular  army 
who  received  a  military  commission  from  Gov 
ernor  Andrew,  who  appointed  him  to  the  command 


396       THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

of  the  Seventeenth  Massachusetts.  He  assisted 
Governor  Andrew  greatly  at  the  beginning  of  the 
war  by  his  military  knowledge  in  forming  regi 
ments  and  dispatching  troops ;  and  the  high  posi 
tion  taken  by  our  State  at  that  critical  hour  is  to 
be  attributed  in  part  to  his  efforts.  In  command 
of  his  regiment,  he  proceeded  to  Washington  ;  and 
then,  with  Burnside's  expedition,  to  North  Caro 
lina  ;  and  there  remained,  till  his  death,  in  a  most 
important  outpost,  where  his  judgment  was  shown 
in  many  services,  and  his  courage  tested  in  many 
serious  engagements.  He  died  honored  and  loved 
by  all  who  knew  him,  and  after  his  death  his  com 
mission  of  Brigadier-general  was  received  from  the 
War  Office,  on  the  back  of  which  is  this  indorse 
ment  in  the  writing  of  Governor  Andrew  :  — 

"  These  papers  are  forwarded  through  Colonel  Henry 
Lee,  Jr.,  to  the  father  and  family  of  the  late  Thomas  J. 
C.  Amory,  for  their  information  of  the  fact  that  the 
records  of  the  Department  of  War  show  that  his  devoted 
and  meritorious  services  and  character  obtained  (though 
too  late  for  his  own  enjoyment  of  the  honor)  the  recog 
nition  of  a  brevet  promotion  to  the  rank  of  Brigadier- 
general  of  Volunteers. 

"JOHN  A.  ANDREW, 

"  Governor  of  Massachusetts" 

Lieutenant-colonel  Lucius  MANLIUS  SARGENT 
was  the  son  of  one  of  our  worthy  fellow-citizens 
and  the  son-in-law  of  another.  He  entered  the 
army  as  surgeon,  but  soon  became  captain  in  the 


THE  HEROES    OF   ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN.       397 

First  Massachusetts  Cavalry ;  and  for  his  energy, 
courage,  and  skill  was  promoted  to  the  rank  he 
held  at  his  death.  He  fell  near  Belfield,  Virginia, 
sword  in  hand,  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy.  His 
fighting  comrades  called  him  a  "man  of  iron:" 
those  who  had  seen  him  in  his  home  knew  that 
to  this  iron  strength  was  added  much  of  culture, 
taste,  tenderness,  and  Christian  faith. 

Would  that  I  might  speak  fully  and  in  detail 
of  all  the  noble  men  whose  names  are  before  us. 
But  I  must  at  least  mention  Captain  WILLIAM 
B.  WILLIAMS,  who,  when  he  entered  the  service, 
said,  "  I  am  young  and  unmarried,  and  am  just 
the  one  to  go."  He  fell  in  the  terrible  battle  of 
Cedar  Mountain,  where  the  Second  Regiment,  out 
of  twenty-two  officers,  brought  out  only  eight  un 
injured.  With  him,  at  the  same  time,  fell  GARY, 
GOODWIN,  ABBOTT,  and  PERKINS.  "  It  was 
splendid,"  says  their  comrade,  ROBERT  SHAW, 
"  to  see  those  fellows,  some  sick,  walk  straight  up 
into  the  shower  of  bullets,  as  if  it  were  so  much 
rain,  —  men  who,  until  this  year,  had  lived  lives 
of  perfect  ease  and  luxury.  It  is  hard  to  believe 
we  shall  never  see  them  again,  after  having  been 
constantly  together  for  more  than  a  year.  I  do 
not  remember  a  single  quarrel  of  importance 
among  all  our  officers  at  that  time." 

He  who  wrote  these  words  to  his  mother  in 
August,  1862,  himself,  in  less  than  a  year,  fell 
gloriously  on  the  parapet  of  Fort  Wagner,  calling 


398       THE  HEROES   OF  ONE  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

to  his  regiment  to  follow  him.  By  his  side  fell 
another  of  our  brave  boys  of  West  Roxbury  — 
Captain  WILLIAM  H.  SIMPKINS.  His  friend  and 
comrade,  CABOT  RUSSELL,  had  been  struck  by  a 
ball,  and  fell.  Captain  Simpkins  offered -to  carry 
him  off.  "  No,"  replied  the  brave  boy,  "but  you 
may  straighten  me  out."  As  Simpkins  stooped 
to  perform  this  service,  a  bullet  pierced  his  breast, 
and  he  fell  dead  on  his  friend's  dying  body.  Cap 
tain  Simpkins  entered  the  Fifty-fourth  Regiment 
of  colored  soldiers,  not  from  enthusiasm,  but  from 
a  solemn  sense  of  duty,  and  he  died  nobly  on  one 
of  the  noblest  fields  of  battle  in  the  war. 

And  another  name  stands  on  that  stone,  —  the 
name  of  one,  the  child  of  a  dear  friend  of  mine, 
—  one  whose  purity  of  heart,  sincerity,  tenderness, 
and  conscience  endeared  him  to  all  who  knew  him. 
Like  Captain  Simpkins,  HENRY  MAY  BOND  went 
to  the  war,  and  returned  to  it  again,  from  a  pure 
sense  of  duty.  He  had  no  taste  for  military  life  ; 
in  his  modesty  he  distrusted  his  own  fitness  for 
the  service ;  but  he  thought  it  his  duty,  having 
served  his  time,  to  reenlist  and  go  again  ;  and  he 
went.  In  a  letter  to  a  brother  officer  he  says : 
"  In  the  hour  of  personal  danger  I  am  strong  and 
courageous  only  in  the  faith  that,  should  it  please 
God  to  take  my  life  while  in  the  discharge  of  what 
I  deem  to  be  my  highest  duty,  all  will  be  well 
with  me.  I  should  be  worth  nothing  to  my  friends 
or  my  country  without  that  faith  in  God."  So 


THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN.       399 

the  good,  brave  boy  lived  cheerfully  and  patiently; 
so,  cheerfully  and  patiently,  he  died. 

In  speaking  of  the  officers  who  were  more  con 
spicuous,  let  us  not  forget  that  the  services  of 
those  who  enlisted,  fought,  and  died  as  private  sol 
diers  were  at  least  as  honorable  and  deserving  of 
our  gratitude.  The  private  surrendered  his  lib 
erty,  he  encountered  more  hardships,  he  was  often 
exposed  to  greater  danger,  he  had  fewer  of  the 
compensations  and  little  of  the  glory.  Let  us, 
then,  give  him  as  full  a  measure  of  our  gratitude 
and  our  love.  Among  the  names  of  the  private 
soldiers  on  our  monument  are  those  of  two  broth 
ers,  CHARLES  H.  HARPER  and  JOSEPH  HARPER, 
whose  father  and  mother  are  with  us.  They  gave 
their  two  boys  to  their  country,  and  it  was  a 
greater  gift  than  the  whole  fortune  of  an  Astor  or 
a  Vanderbilt. 

On  the  tomb  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  in  the 
crypt  of  St.  Paul's,  in  commemoration  of  this  great 
architect  who  filled  London  with  his  churches, 
are  the  simple  words,  Si  monumentum  quceris,  cir- 
cumspice,  —  "  If  you  ask  for  his  monument,  look 
around  you."  So  we  may  say  of  those  who  fell 
in  defense  of  our  common  country,  —  "  If  you  ask 
for  their  monument,  look  around  you."  The  coun 
try  itself,  saved  by  their  devotion,  is  their  true 
monument.  Not  for  their  sakes,  then,  but  for  our 
own,  do  we  erect  this  monument.  They  do  not 
need  it,  but  we  do. 


400       THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

The  whole  land,  redeemed,  regenerated,  and 
disenthralled,  is  the  only  adequate  monument  to 
their  heroism.  But,  in  the  hurry  of  our  busy 
life,  in  the  pressure  of  our  multitudinous  cares, 
we  need  to  be  reminded,  by  the  sight  of  this  sim 
ple  structure,  by  the  letters  of  these  noble  names, 
that  we  are  bound  to  keep  the  country  pure  which 
they  made  safe. 

There  are  some,  I  believe,  who  object  to  such 
monuments,  on  the  ground  that  they  tend  to  keep 
alive  the  memory  of  civil  warfare,  which  had 
better  be  forgotten.  But  this  is  a  mistake.  If  I 
were  in  a  Southern  State,  and  stood  by  a  memo 
rial  erected  there  in  love  and  gratitude  to  the 
soldiers  of  their  lost  cause,  would  it  excite  any 
feeling  of  hostility  in  my  mind  ?  Rather,  I  should 
say,  "They  died  in  a  bad  cause ;  but  if  they  be 
lieved  they  were  right,  I  can  respect  their  self- 
devotion."  Such  monuments  would  impress  on 
me  the  conviction  that  they  believed  in  their  cause 
and  were  sincere,  and  so  would  lead  me  to  re 
spect  them.  But  if  Southerners,  traveling  through 
the  North,  should  see  no  testimony  on  our  part  to 
our  heroes  and  martyrs,  they  might  justly  infer 
that  we  did  not  believe  in  our  cause.  But  wher 
ever  the  eye  falls  on  such  memorials  as  this,  it  is 
at  once  felt  that  we  were  in  solemn  earnest ;  that 
we  considered  the  war  for  Union  a  holy  one,  and 
all  who  fell  in  it  heroes  and  martyrs.  These 
stones  will  say  to  every  citizen  of  the  South,  "We 


THE  HEROES   OF  ONE   COUNTRY  TOWN.       401 

did  not  fight  you  in  anger  or  from  selfishness, 
but  in  pure  love  of  Union  and  Freedom.  It  is 
because  we  believe  Union  and  Freedom  as  good 
for  you  as  for  ourselves.  It  was  no  battle  of  North 
against  South,  but  of  right  against  wrong ;  and 
when  we  won  the  victory,  we  won  it  for  you  as 
well  as  for  ourselves.  The  country  these  brave 
men  saved  is  your  country  as  well  as  ours.  We 
can  all  be  proud  in  the  triumph  of  our  common 
land." 

To  our  heroes  and  martyrs  we  erect  these 
stones,  —  not  so  much  for  their  sake  as  for  our 
own.  They,  being  dead,  still  speak.  They  speak, 
to  teach  us  never  to  despair  of  the  country.  They 
tell  us  that,  though  the  times  may  be  bad,  there 
are  yet  many  noble  souls  ;  that  patriotism,  cour 
age,  conscience,  and  devotion  do  not  die  out  of  hu 
man  hearts  ;  that  though  there  may  be  robbers 
who  plunder  the  country,  and  demagogues  who 
deceive  the  people  ;  though  evil  abounds,  and  the 
love  of  many  waxes  cold,  —  there  is  yet  a  power  to 
redeem  and  to  save.  In  the  darkest  hour  of  our 
nation's  night  there  flamed  up  this  great  spirit  of 
generous  courage  in  the  souls  of  our  boys,  and 
turned  the  darkness  into  day.  Let  us  remember 
this,  and  never  despair. 

And  when  we  pass  this  monument,  when  our 
eyes  fall  on  these  names,  let  us  remember  that 
what  they  saved  we  are  bound  to  keep  safe.  There 
fore  let  me  close  by  adopting  the  sublime  words 


402       THE  HEROES   OF  ONE  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

of  Abraham  Lincoln  at  the  dedication  of  the 
Cemetery  at  Gettysburg  :  "  In  a  larger  sense  we 
cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate,  we  cannot 
hallow  this  ground.  These  brave  men,  living  and 
dead,  have  consecrated  it  far  above  our  power  to 
add  or  detract.  The  world  will  little  note  nor 
long  remember  what  we  say  here,  but  it  can  never 
forget  what  they  did.  It  is  for  us,  the  living, 
rather  to  be  dedicated  here  to  their  unfinished 
work,  —  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great  task  re 
maining  before  us,  —  that  from  these  honored 
dead  wre  take  increased  devotion  to  the  cause  for 
which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion ; 
that  we  here  highly  resolve  that  the  dead  shall 
not  have  died  in  vain  ;  that  the  nation  shall,  un 
der  God,  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom,  and  that 
the  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  and 
for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth." 


XIX. 
WILLIAM  HULL. 


WILLIAM  HULL. 


AMONG  the  beautiful  situations  which  abound 
in  the  vicinity  of  Boston,  that  in  Newton,  now  oc 
cupied  as  the  residence  of  Governor  Claflin,  is 
very  attractive.  The  house  stands  on  an  elevation 
above  an  extensive  lawn,  through  which  winds  a 
large  brook,  and  where  groups  of  graceful  elms 
throw  their  shadows  along  the  soft  grass  in  the 
summer  afternoons.  In  my  childhood  this  was  the 
home  of  my  grandfather,  William  Hull ;  and  one 
to  which  all  the  grandchildren  loved  to  go.  He 
had  been  an  officer  in  the  American  army  during 
the  whole  Revolution ;  had  known  Washington, 
Lafayette,  and  other  leaders  ;  had  been  for  many 
years  Governor  of  Michigan  Territory,  and  could 
tell  numerous  anecdotes  of  his  early  days,  to  enter 
tain  the  children  who  collected  around  his  hospi 
table  hearth.  He  would  narrate  to  us  stories  of 
the  sufferings  and  exploits  of  the  Revolutionary 
troops  ;  of  the  terrors  of  the  French  Revolution 
which  he  saw  in  Paris  in  1798 ;  and  of  the  wild 
Indians  among  whom  he  lived  in  Michigan.  A 


406  WILLIAM  HULL. 

kind  and  genial  old  man,  disposed  to  be  a  friend  to 
every  one,  his  house  was  a  rendezvous  for  many 
sorts  of  people,  who  made  themselves  at  home  in 
its  parlors  or  its  kitchen.  After  a  youth  of  ad 
venture  and  a  manhood  which  had  brought  many 
distinctions  and  honors,  his  age  had  been  clouded 
by  unmerited  disgrace.  Put  in  a  position  of  com 
mand  where  success  was  impossible,  deserted  by 
his  government  and  betrayed  by  his  colleagues, 
he  had  been  made  the  scapegoat  of  a  blundering 
administration,  and  of  other  commanders  who 
knew  how  to  throw  on  him  the  blame  of  their  own 
mistakes.  But  his  sweet  temper  remained  unim- 
bittered  by  this  ill-treatment ;  he  was  always 
cheerful ;  he  was  never  heard  to  complain  ;  and 
was  sure  that  his  character  would  be  finally  vindi 
cated.  And  thus  he  spent  his  last  peaceful  years 
in  the  pursuits  of  agriculture,  on  the  farm  which 
his  wife  had  inherited  from  her  ancestors,  and 
which  supplied  the  modest  expenses  of  his  house 
hold. 

This  farm,  of  about  three  hundred  acres,  came 
into  his  possession  through  his  marriage  with 
Sarah  Fuller,  only  daughter  of  Abraham  Fuller, 
who  was  a  conspicuous  character  about  the  period 
of  the  Revolution.  His  record  illustrates  the  po 
sition  which  might  be  reached  in  those  days  in  the 
country  towns  by  an  intelligent  farmer  of  Massa 
chusetts.  Having  only  had  a  common  school  edu 
cation,  he  held  the  offices  of  selectman,  town  clerk, 


WILLIAM  HULL.  407 

and  treasurer,  representative  to  the  general  court, 
delegate  to  the  provincial  congress,  state  senator, 
state  councilor,  and  judge  of  the  court  of  common 
pleas.  He  was  an  ardent  patriot  during  the  Rev 
olution.  He  was  celebrated  for  four  things :  his 
remarkable  honesty ;  his  determined  patriotism ; 
his  very  loud  voice,  which  could  be  heard  a  mile ; 
and  the  fact  that  after  he  died  his  body  remained 
nndecayed  for  a  long  period.  Nine  years  after 
liis  death,  the  tomb  in  Newton  being  opened,  his 
features  were  found  nearly  the  same  as  when  alive. 
Thirty-six  years  after  his  death,  in  1830,  I  myself 
visited  my  great-grandfather's  tomb,  and  found  the 
body  shrunk  away  indeed,  and  changed  in  color, 
but  resembling  leather  in  color  and  firmness.  He 
inherited  his  farm  from  his  great-grand-fathers, 
John  Fuller  and  Edward  Jackson.  John  Fuller, 
in  1658,  bought  seven  hundred  and  fifty  acres  on 
Charles  River  for  £150.  Edward  Jackson,  in 
1646,  bought  for  X140  five  hundred  acres,  cov 
ering  what  is  now  called  Newton ville,  but  which 
ought  perhaps  to  be  named  Jackson.  From  these 
two  ancestors  Judge  Fuller  inherited  the  estate 
where  his  son-in-law,  General  Hull,  spent  the  last 
years  of  his  life. 

In  1848,  long  after  the  death  of  General  Hull 
and  his  wife,  and  when  the  last  of  his  family  had 
moved  from  the  homestead  and  left  it  unoccupied, 
I  penetrated  one  summer  afternoon  into  the  old 
upper  garret  of  the  house,  seeking  for  papers  to 


408  WILLIAM  HULL. 

help  me  in  my  task  of  writing  a  book  on  the 
campaign  of  1812.  I  found  there  a  trunk  which 
had  evidently  not  been  opened  or  examined  for 
many  years.  It  was  filled  with  files  of  letters, 
closely  packed  together,  many  of  which  had  been 
received  by  my  grandfather  during  the  War  of  In 
dependence.  There  were  four  letters  from  Gen 
eral  Washington  himself,  and  numerous  others 
from  Lincoln,  Knox,  Steuben,  George  Clinton, 
Lord  Stirling,  Jefferson,  Madison,  Monroe,  Robert 
Morris,  Aaron  Burr,  General  Heath  ;  with  military 
commissions,  and  passports  for  traveling  in  Eu 
rope,  from  Governors  Hancock  and  Samuel  Adams. 
Some  of  these  I  took,  to  aid  me  in  my  work  ;  but, 
being  too  absurdly  conscientious,  I  left  the  rest, 
and  they  were  afterward  carried  away  by  some 
unknown  persons.  Let  us  hope  that,  since  they 
cannot  be  in  my  collection  of  autographs,  they 
may  adorn  that  of  some  other  more  enthusiastic 
collector. 

William  Hull  was  born  in  Derby,  Conn.,  in 
1753.  His  ancestor,  Richard  Hull,  made  freeman 
in  Massachusetts  in  1634,  removed  to  New  Haven, 
Conn.,  in  1639.  His  son  John  removed  to  Derby, 
Conn. ;  and  his  grandson,  Joseph,  was  the  grand 
father  of  William.  William's  father,  Joseph  Hull, 
was  a  farmer.  His  eldest  brother,  the  father  of 
Isaac  Hull,  who  commanded  the  frigate  Consti 
tution  in  its  battle  with  the  Gruerriere,  became, 
like  William,  an  officer  in  the  Revolutionary  army. 


WILLIAM  HULL.  409 

Among  his  exploits  was  that  of  taking  a  British 
armed  schooner  in  Long  Island  Sound.  He  went 
out  of  Derby  in  a  boat  in  the  night-time  with 
twenty  men,  boarded  the  schooner,  and  took  her 
into  port  with  her  crew.  Another  brother  was 
also  an  officer  in  the  Revolution. 

William  Hull,  the  fourth  son,  graduated  at 
Yale  College  with  honors ;  afterward  entered  the 
law  school  at  Litchfield,  Conn.,  and  was  admitted 
to  the  bar  in  1775. 

When  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Lexington 
reached  Derby  a  company  of  soldiers  was  raised 
there,  and  William  Hull  was  chosen  their  cap 
tain,  very  unexpectedly  to  himself.  But,  full  of 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  hour,  he  at  once  accepted 
the  appointment,  and  joining  Colonel  Webb's 
regiment,  of  which  his  company  made  a  part, 
marched  to  Cambridge  to  join  the  army  of  Wash 
ington.  His  father  dying  at  this  time,  he  resigned 
his  share  of  the  inheritance,  saying,  "  I  only  want 
my  sword  and  my  uniform."  From  that  time  till 
the  end  of  the  American  war  he  continued  in 
the  army,  being  present  in  many  of  the  most  im 
portant  operations  and  engagements,  such  as  Dor 
chester  Heights,  White  Plains,  Trenton,  Prince 
ton,  Ticonderoga,  the  surrender  of  Burgoyne,  Fort 
Stanwix,  Monmouth,  Stony  Point,  and  Morrisania. 
He  was  inspector  under  Baron  Steuben,  lieuten 
ant-colonel  in  1779,  and  commanded  the  escort  of 
Washington  when  he  bade  farewell  to  the  army. 


410  WILLIAM  HULL. 

His  commander,  Colonel  Brooks  (afterwards 
Governor  of  Massachusetts),  wrote  a  letter  in 
1814,  in  which  he  says,  "  In  September,  1776,  at 
White  Plains,  General  Hull  (then  captain)  acted 
under  my  immediate  orders,  and  was  detached 
from  the  line  to  oppose  a  body  of  Light  Infantry 
and  Yagers  advancing  on  the  left  flank  of  the 
American  army.  His  orders  were  executed  with 
promptitude,  gallantry,  and  effect.  Though  more 
than  double  his  number,  the  enemy  was  compelled 
to  retreat,  and  the  left  of  the  American  line  en 
abled  to  pass  the  Bronx." 

He  was  then  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  twenty- 
three  years  old,  fresh  from  college  and  the  study 
of  law.  In  the  brief  memoirs  he  has  left  of  his 
Revolutionary  life,  he  mentions  this  action  in  the 
abstract  and  dignified  manner  which  was  then 
supposed  to  be  the  proper  style  for  history.  In 
fact,  had  it  not  been  for  Colonel  Brooks,  we 
should  not  have  known  that  he  commanded  this 
body,  for  he  does  not  even  mention  himself.  O, 
if  he,  and  the  other  young  heroes  of  that  time  had 
only  told  us  of  their  feelings  on  being  suddenly 
called  to  such  important  duties  ;  if  they  had  only 
relinquished  the  abstract  formal  narrative  and 
given  us  pictures  of  the  looks,  dress,  behavior  of 
the  soldiers ;  had  only  condescended  to  paint  the 
details  and  add  the  color  which  so  enliven  modern 
history  !  But  such  was  not  the  style  of  writing 
they  had  learned  at  college  from  Hume  and  Lord 


WILLIAM  HULL.  411 

Kames.  This  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  stood 
with  his  regiment  to  see  a  British  army  marching 
to  attack  them,  and  his  MSS.  glow  for  a  moment 
with  the  admiration  he  felt  as  a  young  soldier  for 
the  splendid  military  equipments  and  discipline  of 
the  enemy.  He  speaks  of  "  the  magnificent  ap 
pearance  "  of  the  British  troops,  of  the  glitter  of 
their  polished  arms  under  the  bright  autumnal 
sun  ;  of  their  rich  uniforms  and  equipage.  So  the 
boy  captain  stood  with  his  poorly  dressed  provin 
cials  to  receive  the  volleys  of  grape  and  chain  shot 
from  the  advancing  foe,  looking  clown  on  them 
from  Chattel-ton's  hill,  till  he  was  called  to  lead 
the  body  which  was  to  oppose  the  force  trying  to 
turn  the  American  left.  All  he  says  of  this  is  : 
"  It  was  promptly  done,  with  much  order  and 
regularity;  and,  after  a  sharp  conflict,  the  object 
was  completely  attained ; "  merely  adding  that 
"his  regiment  had  the  honor  of  receiving  the 
personal  thanks  of  Washington  after  the  engage 
ment."  But  of  the  glow  of  satisfaction  and  pride 
which  he  must  have  felt  in  listening  to  those  words 
of  praise  from  his  great  commander  he  carefully 
says  nothing.1 

The  next  little  touch  of  reality  which  breaks  out 
from  his  memoir  is  concerning  the  fatigues  of  the 
soldiers  at  Trenton  and  Princeton.  He  was  one  of 

1  Nor  does  he  mention  his  first  wound,  received  in  this  engage 
ment.  That  would  be  quite  contrary  to  good  writing,  according 
to  the  rhetoric  of  his  day. 


412  WILL  JAM  HULL. 

those  commanders  who  made  the  sufferings  of  his 
soldiers  his  own.  On  leaving  the  Highlands  of 
New  York  to  join  General  Washington  in  Penn 
sylvania,  he  says  he  found  that  his  company,  then 
reduced  to  fifty  men,  had  only  one  poor  blanket  to 
two  men  ;  many  had  no  shoes  or  stockings ;  those 
which  were  in  the  company  were  nearly  worn  out ; 
their  clothes  were  wretched  ;  they  had  not  been 
paid ;  yet  they  were  patient,  patriotic,  and  willing 
to  serve  on  without  compensation.  During  their 
march  they  slept  on  the  cold  ground,  though  it 
was  December,  and  that  without  covering.  It  was 
a  bitterly  cold  Christmas  night  when  Washington 
crossed  the  Delaware  to  Trenton.  There  was  a  driv 
ing  storm  of  snow  and  sleet,  and  the  ice  was  run 
ning  in  the  river.  The  storm  continued  all  night, 
and  when  the  troops  were  halted  they  were  so  fa 
tigued  that  they  fell  asleep  as  they  stood  in  their 
ranks,  and  could  with  difficulty  be  awakened.  In 
the  action  which  followed,  Captain  Hull  acted  as 
Lieutenant-colonel.  As  soon  as  the  battle  had 
been  fought  and  won,  the  army  marched  back 
with  their  prisoners  and  the  artillery  and  military 
stores  they  had  taken.  Nearly  all  that  night  was 
spent  in  recrossing  the  Delaware.  After  gaining 
the  other  side,  our  young  captain  marched  his 
troops  to  a  farmer's  house  to  get  them  some  re 
freshment  and  rest.  "  After  my  men  had  been 
accommodated,"  says  he,  "  I  went  into  a  room 
where  a  number  of  officers  were  sitting  round  a 


W I  J.LI  AM  HULL.  413 

table,  with  a  large  dish  of  hasty-pudding  in  its 
centre.  I  sat  down,  procured  a  spoon,  and  began 
to  eut.  While  eating  I  fell  from  my  chair  to  the 
floor,  overcome  with  sleep ;  and  in  the  morning, 
when  I  awoke,  the  spoon  was  fast  clinched  in  my 
hand."  Happy  days  of  youth,  when  no  hardship 
nor  fatigue  can  prevent  blessed  sleep  from  coming 
to  seal  up  the  eye  and  give  rest  to  the  brain  ! 

The  waking  of  the  boy-soldier  from  this  sleep 
on  the  floor  was  followed  two  days  after  by  an 
agreeable  incident.  Washington,  whose  eye  was 
everywhere,  had  probably  noticed  Hull's  good  be 
havior  in  this  action. 

The  day  before  the  march  to  Princeton,  one  of 
General  Washington's  aids  came  to  Captain  Hull's 
tent,  and  said,  "  Captain,  the  Commander-in-chief 
wishes  to  see  you." 

The  young  soldier  went,  we  may  suppose, 
with  some  trepidation,  to  the  General's  quarters. 
Washington  looked  at  him,  and  said,  "  Captain 
Hull,  you  are  an  officer,  I  believe,  in  the  Connecti 
cut  line." 

Hull  bowed,  and  General  Washington  went  on. 
u  I  wish  to  promote  you  and  I  have  the  power  to 
do  so.  But  for  that  purpose  I  must  transfer  you 
to  the  Massachusetts  line,  since  there  is  no  vacancy 
in  yours.  If  you  are  willing,  I  will  appoint  you 
major  in  the  Eighth  Massachusetts." 

Hull  thanked  his  general  warmly  for  this  mark 
of  favor,  and  said,  "  All  I  wish,  General,  is  to 


414  WILLIAM  HULL. 

serve  my  country  where  I  can  do  it  best ;  and  I 
accept  the  promotion  gratefully." 

He  was  then  appointed  to  command  a  detach 
ment  to  watch  the  approach  of  Cornwallis,  and  to 
detain  him  as  long  as  possible  while  Washington 
was  fortifying  himself  beyond  the  little  creek,  be 
hind  which  he  concealed  his  rapid  night  march 
upon  Princeton.  After  serving  in  these  two  bat 
tles  he  was  sent  to  Massachusetts  to  recruit  his 
regiment.  Having  recruited  three  hundred  men, 
he  was  then  ordered  to  join  General  St.  Glair's 
army  at  Ticonderoga.  When  General  St.  Clair 
evacuated  that  post  an  outcry  of  reproach  went 
up  against  him  from  all  quarters,  though  this 
event  probably  caused  the  final  surrender  of  Bur- 
goyne.  Major  Hull,  satisfied  of  the  injustice  of 
these  censures  on  his  commander,  wrote  a  letter  to 
a  friend  in  Connecticut  during  the  retreat  —  the 
stump  of  a  tree  serving  him  for  a  table  —  defend 
ing  the  course  of  St.  Clair.  Major  Hull  was  then 
sent  with  his  regiment  under  General  Arnold  to 
relieve  Fort  Stanwix  on  the  Mohawk  River.  After 
this  work  had  been  accomplished^  Arnold  and  his 
troops  rejoined  the  army  of  Gates  at  Saratoga, 
and  Major  Hull  commanded  detachments  in  the 
battles  which  compelled  the  surrender  of  Bur- 
goyne.  In  one  of  these  battles,  when  he  drove 
the  enemy  from  their  post  with  the  bayonet,  his 
detachment  lost  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  out  of 
three  hundred.  He  commanded  the  rear  guard  in 


WILLIAM  HULL.  415 

Schuyler's  retreat  from  Fort  Edward,  and  was 
constantly  engaged  with  the  advanced  troops  of 
Burgoyne.  He  commanded  a  volunteer  corps  on 
the  19th  September.  His  detachment,  by  charg 
ing  the  enemy  with  the  bayonet  at  a  critical  mo 
ment,  aided  in  the  repulse  of  Burgoyne  on  that 
day.  In  the  battle  of  the  7th  of  October  Major 
Hull  commanded  the  advanced  guard.  At  the 
final  surrender  of  Burgoyne,  he  says,  "  I  was 
present  when  they  marched  into  our  camp,  and  no 
words  can  express  the  deep  interest  felt  by  every 
American  heart.  Nor  could  we  help  feeling  sym 
pathy  for  those  who  had  so  bravely  opposed  us." 

The  Massachusetts  regiment  of  which  young 
Hull  was  major  had  now  earned  the  right  to 
some  short  period  of  rest.  It  had  inarched  from 
Boston  to  Ticonderoga  ;  had  retreated  through 
the  wilderness  to  Saratoga  ;  had  thence  marched 
to  Fort  Stanwix  on  the  Mohawk  and  back  ;  and 
had  been  engaged  in  all  the  battles  with  Bur 
goyne.  But  it  was  now  ordered  to  Pennsylvania 
to  join  the  army  of  Washington,  and  was  in  the 
winter-quarters  during  the  cruel  winter  passed  at 
Valley  Forge.  Major  Hull  and  Lieutenant-colonel 
Brooks  had  a  hut  together.  It  contained  but  one 
room,  with  shelves  on  one  side  for  books,  and 
on  the  other  for  a  row  of  Derby  cheeses  sent  to 
Hull  by  his  mother.  Here  they  passed  the  dreary 
days  of  the  winter.  The  men  wanted  provisions, 
blankets,  and  shoes.  The  officers  were  scarcely 


416  WILLIAM  HULL. 

better  off  than  the  men.  Discontent,  approaching 
to  mutiny,  was  the  natural  result.  Terrible  dis 
eases  broke  out  in  the  camp.  Long  years  after 
these  trials  had  passed  by,  my  grandfather  Hull 
could  scarcely  allude  to  them  without  emotion. 

The  army  was  fading  away  by  disease  and  de 
sertion,  and  by  the  expiration  of  the  term  of  en 
listment.  A  little  vigor  on  the  part  of  indolent 
Sir  William  Howe  would  have  driven  this  shadow 
of  an  army  back  into  the  mountains  of  Pennsyl 
vania.  Fortunately  for  Washington,  General 
Howe  was  incapable  of  any  such  enterprise.  He 
preferred  feasts  and  games  in  Philadelphia. 

One  attempt,  however,  he  made.  He  tried  to 
surround  a  detachment  of  twenty-five  hundred 
men  under  Lafayette,  but  failed  in  this  from  the 
superior  alertness  and  vigor  of  the  young  French 
general.  Hull  was  with  the  body  sent  to  meet 
and  assist  Lafayette  on  this  occasion.  Years  after, 
on  Lafayette's  visit  to  Boston  in  1824,  he  came  to 
visit  General  Hull,  who  had  collected  his  grand 
children  around  him  that  they  might  see  his  old 
friend.  I  recollect  the  affectionate  manner  in 
which  these  two  aged  men  took  each  other  by  the 
hand,  and  the  kind  interest  which  Lafayette  man 
ifested  in  the  grandchildren  of  his  comrade  in  the 
Revolution. 

After  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  in  which  Major 
Hull  served  under  Lord  Stirling,  taking  part  in 
the  successful  resistance  to  the  attack  of  the  right 


WILLIAM  HULL.  417 

wing  of  the  British,  he  was  ordered  to  march  his 
regiment  to  Poughkeepsie,  and  then  to  Kings- 
bridge,  in  front  of  the  enemy's  lines  near  New 
York.  Hull  had  the  command  of  the  corps  of  ob 
servation  at  this  place,  which  faced  the  whole 
British  army,  and  was  eighteen  miles  in  advance 
of  any  other  body  of  American  troops.  Great 
circumspection  and  constant  watchfulness  was 
necessary.  He  moved  his  troops  from  spot  to 
spot,  about  White  Plains,  above  and  below  Dobbs 
Ferry,  patrolling  to  the  right  and  left,  and  watch 
ing  every  movement  of  the  British  army.  This 
was  the  region  ravaged  by  the  Cow-boys  and  Skin 
ners,  and  is  the  scene  of  Cooper's  novel,  "  The 
Spy."  Major  Hull  commanded  here  during  three 
winters,  trying  to  repress  the  cruelty  of  these  law 
less  marauders,  so  far  as  his  small  force  would  al 
low.  He  was  then  about  twenty-five  years  old, 
and  in  excellent  health.  "  In  a  command  so  re 
sponsible,"  says  he,  "  I  adopted  a  system  to  which 
I  steadfastly  adhered  ;  nor  did  storms,  cold,  or  the 
darkness  of  the  night  ever  interfere  with  its  per 
formance.  Early  in  the  evening,  without  taking 
off  my  clothes,  with  my  arms  by  my  side,  I  lay 
down  before  the  fire,  wrapped  in  my  blanket,  and 
gave  directions  to  the  sentinel  to  awaken  me  at 
one  in  the  morning.  My  adjutant,  or  some  other 
officer,  was  with  me,  and  one  or  two  of  the  faith 
ful  guides  from  among  the  loyal  inhabitants  of 
the  region.  The  troops  were  ordered  to  be  paraded 

27 


418  WILLIAM  HULL. 

at  the  same  hour,  and  to  remain  on  parade  until 
my  return.  After  the  whole  were  assembled,  one 
half  were  allowed  to  go  to  rest,  and  the  other  half 
were  formed  into  strong  guards,  which  patrolled 
in  front  and  on  the  flanks  of  the  detachment  until 
sunrise.  This  force  was  in  addition  to  the  small 
parties  which  were  constantly  patrolling  with  the 
guides.  After  making  this  arrangement,  I  rode 
with  my  adjutant  and  one  or  two  guides  across  to 
the  North  River,  and  then  back,  on  the  line  of 
my  patrols,  toward  the  East  River,  and  rode  thus 
in  different  directions  until  sunrise.  I  commonly 
rode  about  twenty  miles  at  night,  and  as  many 
during  the  day.  I  was  directed  to  preserve  peace 
and  good  order  among  the  inhabitants,  and  cau 
tioned  not  to  allow  supplies  to  be  carried  to  the 
enemy.  The  enemy  made  many  attempts  to  sur 
prise  and  destroy  my  detachment ;  but,  by  the 
precautions  taken,  his  plans  were  invariably  de 
feated.  I  selected  a  number  of  families  on  whose 
fidelity  I  could  rely,  and  formed  a  line  of  them, 
extending  from  Kingsbridge  to  my  most  advanced 
guards.  I  requested  them  to  come  to  me  at  night, 
and  gave  them  my  instructions.  The  man  who 
lived  nearest  to  Kingsbridge,  whenever  he  noticed 
any  extraordinary  movement  among  the  enemy, 
was  to  take  a  mug  or  pitcher  in  his  hand,  and  in 
a  careless  manner  go  to  his  next  neighbor  on  this 
line  for  some  cider,  beer,  or  milk,  give  him  notice, 
arid  return  home.  His  neighbor  was  to  do  the 


WILLIAM  HULL.  419 

same,  and  so  on,  until  the  information  reached  my 
station.  Thus  the  enemy  could  make  no  move 
ment  without  my  being  informed  of  it.  I  re 
warded  these  good  people  for  their  services,  which 
they  could  not  perform  without  much  personal 
risk.  Not  one  was  faithless  to  his  trust,  though 
surrounded  by  hardship  and  danger.  The  State 
of  New  York  required  them  to  take  the  oath  of 
fidelity,  and  if  they  refused  their  property  might 
be  confiscated.  Those  who  did  not  take  the  oath 
were  plundered  by  the  Skinners,  and  those  who 
did,  by  the  Cow-boys." 

About  the  end  of  May,  1779,  Sir  Henry  Clin 
ton  moved  up  the  Hudson  from  New  York,  the 
American  army  retreating  before  him.  The  Brit 
ish  troops  took  possession  of  the  two  strong  posi 
tions  of  Stony  Point  and  Verplanck's  Point,  and 
put  garrisons  in  them.  Major  Hull  was  ordered 
to  West  Point,  where  his  detachment  erected  a 
fort  overlooking  and  commanding  the  other  works 
at  that  place. 

Stony  Point  and  Verplanck's  Point  were  the 
keys  of  the  Highlands,  and  formed  the  eastern 
and  western  termini  of  King's  Ferry,  an  important 
line  of  communication.  They  were  just  at  the 
head  of  the  Tappan  Sea.  General  Washington, 
whose  head-quarters  were  just  above  West  Point, 
determined  to  attack  Stony  Point  and  retake  it. 
He  intrusted  the  enterprise  to  General  Wayne. 
On  this  occasion  Major  Hull  commanded  a  column, 


420  WILLIAM  HULL. 

and  received  the  commendation  of  his  commander 
for  his  conduct.  His  name  having  been  acciden 
tally  left  out  in  General  Wayne's  first  letter  to  the 
President  of  Congress,  General  Wayne,  in  a  sub 
sequent  letter  to  Congress  expressed  his  great  re 
gret  at  this  omission.  Major  Hull  thereupon 
wrote  a  letter  to  General  Wayne,  expressing  his 
entire  satisfaction  with  this  act  of  justice.  This 
letter  is  preserved  in  Dawson's  account  of  the  as 
sault  on  Stony  Point,  and  Wayne's  reply  is  in 
my  possession  in  the  original  autograph,  and  is  as 
follows  :  — 

"  LIGHT  INFANTRY  CAMP,  25  August,  1779. 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  The  Candor  with  which  you  have  de 
livered  your  sentiments,  gives  a  sensation  much  better 
felt  than  expressed.  My  highest  ambition  is  to  merit 
the  Esteem  and  Confidence  of  the  Light  Corps  —  con 
scious  of  the  Rectitude  of  my  own  Conduct,  I  feel 
doubly  happy  in  your  approbation  of  it,  and  have  the 
most  happy  presages,  that  by  mutual  Confidence,  and 
a  strict  Observance  of  Orders  and  Discipline,  we  shall 
produce  a  Conviction  to  the  World  that  the  sons  of 
America  deserve  to  be  free. 

"  I  am,  with  true  esteem,  yours  most  sincerely, 

"ANT'Y.  WAYNE. 
"  MAJOR  HULL." 

Major  Hull,  in  his  account  of  the  attack,  gives 
a  vivid  picture  of  the  troops  marching  all  day  over 
the  rugged  mountains  which  lay  between  West 
Point  and  Stony  Point,  and  of  their  silent  advance 
through  the  midnight  darkness  to  the  attack.  He 


WILLIAM  HULL.  421 

describes  the  columns,  who  had  strict  orders  not  to 
load  a  single  gun,  but  to  do  everything  with  the 
bayonet,  feeling  their  way  across  the  marsh  and 
over  the  beach  in  silence.  The  column  led  by 
Wayne  himself,  together  with  that  of  Hull,  crossed 
the  beach  on  which  was  two  feet  of  water.  Some 
outlying  guards  perceived  or  heard  the  advancing 
body  'and  fired,  and  the  fort  was  alarmed,  and  im 
mediately  opened  fire  on  the  Americans  who  were 
silently  struggling  up  the  very  steep  hill,  which 
was  also  protected  by  a  strong  abattis  of  trees, 
and  strong  pickets.  While  tearing  these  away, 
under  a  heavy  fire  of  artillery  and  musketry, 
Wayne  having  just  passed  the  abattis  received  a 
musket-ball,  and  was  stunned  for  a  moment.  His 
soldiers  rushed  on,  and  the  two  columns  entered 
the  fort  nearly  at  once.  Then  the  mountains 
"  found  a  tongue  "  and  echoed  back  the  loud  cheers 
of  the  victors.  Hull  had  two  narrow  escapes,  one 
ball  passing  through  the  crown  of  his  hat,  and 
another  striking  his  boot. 

For  his  conduct  on  this  occasion  Major  Hull 
received  promotion,  and  was  made  a  lieutenant- 
colonel.  He  was  also  much  gratified  by  an  invita 
tion  from  General  Washington  to  enter  his  family 
as  one  of  his  aids.  But  he  was  obliged  to  decline 
this,  as  General  Steuben,  who  was  introducing  a 
new  system  of  discipline  into  the  army,  was  very 
desirous  to  have  Hull  as  one  of  his  assistants,  as 
inspector,  in  which  position  he  remained  for  some 


422  WILLIAM  HULL. 

time.  He  was  afterward  ordered  to  West  Ches 
ter  to  bis  old  position  before  New  York,  where  he 
commanded  a  detachment  of  four  hundred  troops. 
In  this  position  he  offered  to  make  an  attack  on 
the  British  post  of  Morrisania,  which  was  gar 
risoned  by  a  partisan  corps  who  were  constantly 
plundering  in  the  neutral  ground  and  in  the  State 
of  Connecticut.  General  Washington  gave  his 
permission  rather  reluctantly,  in  a  letter,  printed 
by  Sparks,  and  dated  January  7,  1781.  Washing 
ton  doubted  of  the  success  of  the  enterprise,  on 
account  of  the  long  distance  the  Americans  would 
have  to  march  to  attack  fresh  troops,  and  because 
they  would  leave  fortified  British  posts  in  their 
rear.  He  added  that  "  success  depends  absolutely 
upon  the  secrecy  and  rapidity  of  the  movement." 
Hull  was  accustomed  to  this  watchfulness  and 
caution  from  his  long  command  in  this  exposed 
vicinity.  He  marched  past  the  enemy's  posts 
unperceived,  with  six  hundred  troops,  and  suc 
ceeded  in  dispersing  the  enemy,  taking  prisoners 
and  cattle  and  the  horses  of  the  British  cavalry. 
They  then  burned  the  barracks  and  stores,  and  he 
returned  without  rest,  and  amid  frequent  attacks 
on  the  rear  from  an  ever-increasing  foe,  and  at 
last  brought  off  his  prisoners  and  his  troops  in 
safety.  He  received  the  thanks  of  Washington 
and  Congress  for  this  service.  Having  served  six 
years  without  having  asked  for  leave  of  absence, 
he  now  obtained  permission  to  spend  the  rest  of 


WILLIAM  HULL.  423 

the  winter  in  Boston,  where  he  was  married  to  the 
only  child  of  Judge  Fuller,  at  her  father's  house 
in  Newton. 

At  the  close  of  the  war,  William  Hull,  then 
thirty  years  old,  having  all  this  experience  behind 
him  — full  of  energy,  health,  and  talent,  began  to 
practice  law  in  Newton.  He  must  have  been 
successful,  for,  during  the  next  twenty  years  he 
built  a  large  house  at  Newton  Corner,  traveled 
extensively  in  America  and  Europe,  and  engaged 
in  various  kinds  of  business  speculations.  He 
bought  and  sold  lands  in  Georgia,  Ohio,  Vermont, 
and  elsewhere.  He  went  to  France  during  the 
French  Revolution,  and,  I  believe,  took  a  cargo  of 
some  sort  to  England. 

Meantime  he  was  very  happy  when  at  home 
in  Newton,  where  he  had  a  large  family  growing 
up  around  him.  Of  his  eight  children,  seven  were 
daughters,  all  lively  and  agreeable,  and  drawing 
many  visitors  to  the  hospitable  house.  It  must 
have  been  a  very  pleasant  place  to  visit ;  at  least, 
so  I  was  told  by  Governor  Levi  Lincoln,  who, 
when  ninety  years  old,  still  remembered  the  gay- 
eties  of  the  place,  where  he  and  others  had  visited 
seventy  years  before.  All  the  seven  daughters 
were  married  ;  one  going  to  live  in  New  York,  two 
to  Georgia,  one  to  Michigan,  one  to  Maine,  and 
two  making  their  homes  in  Boston. 

During  these  years  he  was  a  leading  man  in  the 
State,  and  was  frequently  elected  to  the  Massa- 


424  WILLIAM  HULL. 

chusetts  Legislature.  In  Shays'  insurrection  he 
commanded  a  column  of  Lincoln's  force,  which 
surprised  and  dispersed  the  insurgents.  He  was 
made  major-general  of  militia  in  1796.  In  1793 
he  was  commissioner  to  Canada  to  treat  with 
the  Indians. 

In  1805  William  Hull  received  from  Thomas 
Jefferson  the  appointment  of  Governor  of  Michi 
gan  Territory,  and  also  that  of  Indian  agent.  All 
the  white  inhabitants  of  the  territory  amounted  to 
less  than  five  thousand,  but  the  Indian  tribes  were 
numerous,  warlike,  and  needed  to  be  treated  with 
much  wisdom.  The  object  of  Governor  Hull  was 
to  civilize  them  and  gradually  extinguish  their 
title,  and  to  turn  them,  if  possible,  into  citizens. 

Detroit,  where  the  Governor  lived  during  his 
seven  years'  administration  of  the  territory,  was 
then  more  difficult  to  reach  from  New  York  than 
it  is  now  to  go  to  China.  It  was  necessary  to 
traverse  Lake  Ontario  and  Lake  Erie  on  small 
sailing  vessels,  which  only  sailed  occasionally  from 
Buffalo  and  from  the  other  ports.  Here,  how 
ever,  he  remained  until  1812.  He  was  asked, 
as  war  with  England  and  with  the  Indians  around 
Detroit  seemed  imminent,  to  accept  a  commis 
sion  of  brigadier-general  in  the  United  States 
army,  and  lead  a  body  of  troops  to  Detroit  to 
protect  the  inhabitants.  He  refused  the  commis 
sion,  and  Colonel  Kingsbury  was  appointed  in  his 
place  ;  but  this  officer  falling  sick,  Hull  at  last 


WILLIAM  HULL.  425 

consented  to  take  the  command.  He  collected  his 
troops  in  Ohio,  and  cut  a  military  road  through 
the  wilderness,  and  on  reaching  Detroit  found  that 
war  had  been  declared  against  Great  Britain. 
Everything  had  been  mismanaged  at  Washington. 
So  tardy  were  they  in  sending  him  notice,  that 
the  British  at  Maiden  heard  of  it  first,  and  cap 
tured  a  vessel  in  which  he  had  sent  his  stores. 
General  Dearborn,  who  was  to  have  cooperated 
with  him  by  invading  Canada  from  the  east,  in 
stead  of  doing  this  had  made  an  armistice  with 
the  British  commander,  which  allowed  him  to 
send  all  his  troops  against  Detroit.  Although 
General  Hull  had,  during  several  years,  urged 
again  and  again  on  the  government  the  impor 
tance  of  building  a  fleet  on  Lake  Erie,  nothing 
had  been  done,  and  it  was  in  the  possession  of 
the  British  fleet.  Provisions  soon  became  scarce  ; 
the  woods  were  filled  with  hostile  Indians,  his 
supplies  were  stopped,  his  communications  cut  off. 
Under  these  conditions  his  post  became  not  ten 
able,  and  he  surrendered,  —  for  the  same  reasons 
which  had  compelled  Burgoyne  to  surrender  at 
Saratoga  and  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown.  But  these 
two  British  generals  had  put  themselves  volunta 
rily  into  a  position,  where  they  were  surrounded 
and  cut  off  from  their  supplies.  General  Hull 
went,  in  obedience  to  orders,  to  Detroit,  depend 
ing  on  the  support  which  had  been  promised  him 
by  his  government,  and  which  was  never  given. 


426  WILLIAM  HULL. 

Burgoyne  and  Cornwallis  returned  to  England,  and 
instead  of  being  condemned  for  their  surrender 
were  rewarded  with  other  and  higher  positions. 
General  Hull  was  punished  by  the  government 
which  had  deserted  and  betrayed  him  by  being 
made  the  scapegoat  for  their  own  mistakes  and 
their  own  incapacity.  A  victim  was  necessary  to 
appease  the  disappointed  hopes  of  the  nation, 
which  had  been  taught  to  believe  that  Canada  was 
to  fall  an  easy  prey  to  our  arms.1  The  anger  of 
the  people  must  be  diverted  from  the  government 
which  had  plunged  into  the  war  without  prepa 
ration.  At  this  juncture  they  found  a  serviceable 
tool  in  Colonel  Cass.  He  went  directly  to  Wash 
ington  after  the  surrender  of  Detroit,  and  wrote 
a  letter  September  10,  1812,  in  which  he  threw 
all  the  blame  of  the  disaster  on  his  general.  In 
this  letter  he  informed  the  government,  "  that  if 
Maiden  had  been  immediately  attacked  it  would 
have  fallen  an  easy  victory."  But  Colonel  Cass 
himself  had  voted  in  a  council  of  war,  with  a  ma 
jority  of  officers,  against  such  an  attack.  In  this 
letter  he  states  that  there  was  no  difficulty  in  pro 
curing  provisions  for  the  army.  But  a  month 
before  this  was  written,  and  four  days  before  the 

i  Henry  Clay  said  in  1812:  "We  can  take  Canada  without 
soldiers I  would  take  the  whole  continent  from  the  Brit 
ish.  I  wish  never  to  see  peace  till  we  do  so."  Better  advised  in 
1814,  he  himself  signed  the  treaty  of  peace  at  Ghent,  which  left 
Canada  where  it  was  before. 


WILLIAM  HULL.  427 

surrender,  this  same  Colonel  Cass  wrote  to  the 
Governor  of  Ohio  that  the  communication  with 
Ohio  must  be  kept  open,  as  the  very  existence  of 
the  army  depended  upon  it,  and  that  supplies  must 
come  from  that  State.  And  on  August  3d  he 
wrote  to  his  brother-in-law  that  "  both  men  and 
provisions  were  wanted  for  the  very  existence  of 
the  troops."  Yet  Cass'  letter  and  testimony  was 
what  diverted  the  anger  of  the  people  from  the 
government  upon  General  Hull.  It  was  pub 
lished  as  an  official  account  of  the  surrender  in 
all  the  newspapers  of  the  Union.  Its  author, 
Colonel  Cass,  was  immediately  rewarded  for  this 
service  (for  he  had  performed  no  other  which 
could  excuse  such  advancement),  by  being  pro 
moted  from  his  position  of  colonel  in  the  Ohio 
militia  to  that  of  brigadier-general  in  the  army  of 
the  United  States.  He  also  was  appointed  Gov 
ernor  of  Michigan  in  place  of  his  old  commander ; 
on  the  principle,  apparently,  that  to  the  victor 
belong  the  spoils. 

At  the  time  when  General  Hull  surrendered 
Detroit,  the  condition  of  affairs  was  as  follows  : 
His  provisions  were  nearly  exhausted.  Commu 
nication  by  the  lake  was  impossible,  that  being  in 
the  hands  of  the  British,  and  remaining  so  until 
Perry's  victory.  His  communications  through 
the  woods  by  land  were  entirely  cut  off,  and  two 
efforts  to  reopen  them,  made  by  strong  detach 
ments,  had  failed.  The  territory  itself  could  fur- 


428  WILLIAM  HULL. 

nish  no  supplies,  as  it  depended  on  Ohio  and 
Indiana  for  its  own.  By  the  fall  of  the  Ameri 
can  forts  on  the  upper  lakes  all  the  hostile  Indi 
ans  were  set  free  to  attack  Detroit.  Brock  had 
more  troops,  numerous  Indian  allies,  ample  sup 
plies  behind  him,  and  the  lake  in  his  possession. 
Hull  might  have  fought  a  battle,  but  if  he  had 
won  it  his  position  would  have  remained  nearly 
the  same.  A  victory  would  not  have  opened  the 
woods  or  given  him  the  lake  ;  but  a  defeat  would 
have  caused  the  massacre  by  the  Indians  of  the 
white  inhabitants  of  the  territory.  General  Har 
rison,  well  acquainted  with  the  country,  foresaw 
and  foretold  the  coming  disaster.  That  it  was 
inevitable  that  Detroit  must  belong  to  whichever 
nation  held  the  command  of  the  lake,  appears 
from  the  fact  that  General  Harrison,  after  the 
surrender,  advanced  to  within  a  short  distance  of 
Detroit  and  was  obliged  to  remain  there  a  whole 
year,  unable  to  move  upon  that  place  till  Perry's 
victory  gave  the  lake  to  the  Americans,  when  the 
British  commander  evacuated  at  once  both  De 
troit  and  Maiden,  without  waiting  for  the  Amer 
ican  forces  to  appear. 

When  the  court  martial  was  summoned  to  try 
General  Hull,  the  officer  whose  neglect  of  orders 
had  caused  the  whole  disaster  was  appointed  its 
president.  This  was  General  Dearborn,  who  was 
to  have  cooperated  with  General  Hull  by  invading 
Canada  on  the  east ;  and  who,  instead  of  this,  had 


WILLIAM  HULL.  429 

signed  an  armistice  which  allowed  the  British 
troops  to  be  sent  against  General  Hull.  The  ac 
quittal  of  Hull  would  have  been  the  condemnation 
of  Dearborn.  And  thus  a  man  was  made  a  judge 
of  the  case  who  had  a  personal  interest  in  the  con 
viction  of  the  prisoner. 

The  charge  of  treason  was  abandoned  by  the 
court  as  being  wholly  untenable.  They  found 
that  General  Hull  was  guilty  of  cowardice  in  sur 
rendering  Detroit,  sentenced  him  to  be  shot,  and 
told  him  to  go  home  from  Albany  to  Boston,  and 
wait  there  for  the  execution  of  the  sentence.  Of 
course  it  was  not  intended  that  the  sentence  should 
be  inflicted.  All  they  wanted  was  a  victim,  and 
to  put  him  to  death  might  make  him  a  martyr. 

Public  opinion  has  long  since  reversed  this  sen 
tence.  The  charge  of  cowardice  has  been  aban 
doned  by  all  well  informed  writers.  It  was 
indeed  absurd  in  itself.  Physical  courage,  in  a 
soldier,  is  very  much  a  matter  of  habit.  Most 
soldiers  are  alarmed  in  their  first  battle ;  few  but 
show  courage  in  their  tenth.  Now  General  Hull 
was  the  only  man  in  the  army  who  was  accus 
tomed  to  war.  He  had  been  in  the  thick  of  nu 
merous  battles,  had  led  charges  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet,  had  received  again  and  again  the  thanks 
of  Congress  and  of  Washington  for  his  bravery. 
Against  this  man's  courage  evidence  was  received 
on  his  trial  from  militia  officers  who  had  never 
heard  a  gun  fired  in  anger,  and  who  testified,  as 


430  WILLIAM  HULL. 

their  opinion,  that  his  looks  seemed  to  show  anx 
iety  and  fear. 

Since  this  charge  has  been  given  up,  some 
writers  have  fallen  back  on  another  position. 
"  He  was  an  old  man,"  say  they,  "  and  wanted 
moral  courage.  He  was  afraid  to  take  responsi 
bility."  At  the  time  of  the  surrender  he  was 
fifty-nine,  an  age  at  which  many  commanders  have 
won  great  victories.  There  is  therefore  no  reason 
to  ascribe  this  cause  for  his  conduct,  if  it  is  suffi 
ciently  justified  by  military  considerations.  And 
it  certainly  is  so,  unless  we  are  to  condemn  all 
the  other  commanders  who  have  surrendered  when 
their  provisions  were  exhausted  and  their  supplies 
cut  off. 

History  has  at  last  reached  the  position  in 
which  its  final  verdict  for  William  Hull  is  entire 
acquittal.  His  condemnation  still  stands  on  the 
records  of  our  army  ;  but  it  was  the  nation  which 
was  condemned  by  that  sentence,  and  not  Hull. 
His  reward  for  having  given  the  strength  of 
his  youth  and  the  vigor  of  his  manhood  to  his 
country's  service  was  the  termination  in  obscurity 
and  disgrace  of  a  career  before  prosperous,  brill 
iant,  and  full  of  hope. 

But  he  had  the  one  never-failing  support  —  the 
consciousness  of  having  done  his  duty  ;  on  this 
point  he  never  expressed  a  doubt.  He  maintained 
to  the  last,  and  repeated  on  his  death-bed,  his  con 
viction  that  he  had  done  right  in  this  act,  which 


WILLIAM  HULL.  431 

had  brought  upon  him  so  much  unmerited  misfort 
une.  As  a  boy  I  used  often  to  visit  his  home, 
and  nothing  could  be  more  cheerful,  kindly,  and 
attractive  than  his  whole  manner.  I  never  saw  a 
cloud  on  his  brow,  I  never  heard  a  harsh  word 
from  his  lips.  All  his  grandchildren  loved  him, 
and  it  was  a  holiday  when  they  could  go  to  the 
old  place  in  Newton,  row  in  his  boat  on  the  pond, 
or  try  with  his  old  carbine  to  shoot  a  rabbit  in  his 
woods.  Nothing  in  his  whole  manner  indicated 
that  there  was  any  cloud  on  his  mind  or  heart. 

Before  his  death  there  came  a  little  sunshine 
from  without  also,  in  addition  to  the  peace  which 
reigned  within.  In  1824,  by  the  kindness  of  Mr. 
Calhoun,  then  the  secretary  of  war,  he  was  able 
to  procure  documents  from  Washington,  by  the 
help  of  which  he  wrote  an  appeal  to  the  people  of 
the  United  States  from  the  sentence  of  the  court 
martial.  This  series  of  letters,  in  the  "  Boston 
Statesman,"  were  read  with  interest  all  over  the 
country.  Public  testimonials  of  esteem  were  of 
fered  to  him  by  men  of  all  parties ;  and  a  marked 
change  took  place  from  that  time  in  the  opinion 
of  the  community  concerning  his  character  and 
conduct. 

This  favorable  opinion  has  been  more  and  more 
confirmed  by  the  conclusions  of  the  best  histo 
rians.  The  latest  of  these,  who  has  written  the 
most  exhaustive  account  of  the  War  of  1812,  com 
pletely  justifies  General  Hull's  conduct.  Benson 


432  WILLIAM  HULL. 

J.  Lossing,  in  a  monograph  published  on  the  sur 
render  of  Detroit  in  "  Potter's  American  Month 
ly  "  for  August,  1875,  calls  the  trial  a  disgraceful 
one,  its  sentence  unjust,  and  says  that  the  court 
was  evidently  constituted  in  order  to  offer  Hull  as 
a  sacrifice  to  appease  public  indignation  and  to 
preserve  the  administration  from  disgrace  and 
contempt.  "  The  conception  of  the  campaign 
against  Canada,"  says  Lossing,  "  was  a  huge  blun 
der.  Hull  saw  it,  and  protested  against  it.  The 
failure  to  put  in  vigorous  motion  for  his  support 
auxiliary  and  cooperative  forces  was  criminal  neg 
lect."  Lossing  adds,  that  in  choosing  to  surrender 
Detroit  Hull  "  bravely  determined  to  choose  the 
most  courageous  and  humane  course  ;  and  so  he 
faced  the  taunts  of  his  soldiers  and  the  expected 
scorn  of  his  countrymen  rather  than  fill  the  beau 
tiful  land  of  the  Ohio  and  the  young  settlements 
of  Michigan  with  mourning.  To  one  of  his  aids 
he  said  :  '  You  return  to  your  family  without  a 
stain  ;  as  for  myself,  I  have  sacrificed  a  reputa 
tion  dearer  to  me  than  life,  but  I  have  saved  the 
inhabitants  of  Detroit,  and  my  heart  approves  the 
deed.'  " 

General  Hull,  as  we  have  said,  spent  his  last 
days  at  Newton,  on  his  wife's  farm,  in  the  peace 
ful  pursuits  of  agriculture.  His  means  were  very 
limited,  and  he  was  often  in  quite  straightened 
circumstances,  when  he  was  supposed  by  the  ig 
norant  to  be  reveling  with  "  British  gold,"  for 


WILLIAM  HULL.  438 

which  he  had  sold  his  country.  A  large  part  of 
his  support  he  derived  from  the  produce  of  his 
farm.  And  none  of  his  grandchildren  will  ever 
forget  the  happy  hours  spent  at  his  house  in  the 
Thanksgiving  holidays,  or  the  dances  in  his  hall 
in  the  evening  to  old  Tillo's  fiddle.  Tillo,  a  negro 
retainer,  whose  father  had  been  rescued  from  the 
ill-treatment  of  the  Cow-boys  in  West  Chester  by 
Major  Hull,  during  his  command  in  that  region, 
considered  the  old  place  as  much  belonging  to 
himself  as  to  his  master,  and  regarded  it  as  his 
chief  duty  "  to  fiddle  for  the  childers."  Nor  can 
we  ever  cease  to  remember  the  bounteous  Thanks 
giving  dinner,  nor  the  long  table  around  which 
the  company  assembled,  nor  the  satisfaction  of 
our  grandfather,  when,  at  the  commencement  of 
the  feast,  he  spread  his  hands  above  the  board 
and  said,  "  All  that  yon  see  on  this  table,  my 
children,  is  the  produce  of  my  own  farm." 

There  is  something  instructive  in  the  story  of 
such  a  life.  It  is  one  of  the  lessons  which  will 
always  bear  repeating,  which  show  us  that  the 
peace  and  joy  of  the  heart  come  from  a  con 
sciousness  of  right-doing  rather  than  from  outward 
circumstances.  It  is  probable  that  General  Hull, 
fallen  on  evil  days  and  tongues,  was  quite  as 
happy,  fully  as  contented,  as  when  his  life  led 
from  one  success  to  another.  The  "  stupid  starers 
and  the  loud  huzzas  "  were  gone,  but  the  self-ap 
proval  remained.  Cast  down  but  not  destroyed, 

23 


434  WILLIAM  HULL. 

persecuted  but  not  forsaken,  he  realized  the  de 
scription  of  the  poet,  — 

"  Thou  hast  been 

As  one,  in  suffering  all,  that  suffers  nothing, 
,  A  man  that  fortune's  buffets  and  rewards 
Hast  taken  with  equal  thanks." 


K 


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